THE     SETTLER 


BY 

HERMAN    WHITAKER 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  PROBATIONER" 


NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 


BOOKS  BY 
HERMAN   WHITAKER 

THE  PLANTER Post  8vo    $1.50 

THE  PROBATIONER Post  8vo      1.25 

THE  SETTLER.      Illustrated.    .    .    Post  8vo      1.50 


HARPER    &     BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  N.  Y. 


Copyright,  1906,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 

Published  October,  1907. 


TO 

ALYSE 


259521 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  '    PAGE 

I.  THE  PARK  LANDS i 

II.  A  DEPUTATION 7 

III.  THE  TRAIL 15 

IV.  THE  COYOTE  SNAPS 21 

V.  JENNY 33 

VI.  THE  SHADOW 47 

VII.  MR.  FLYNN  STEPS  INTO  THE  BREACH      ....  62 

VIII.  WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 70 

IX.  THE  DEVIL 83 

X.  FRICTION 96 

XI.  THE  FROST 106 

XII.  THE  BREAK 118 

XIII.  THE  CAMP 133 

XIV.  THE  RED  TEAMSTER 143 

XV.  TRAVAIL 156 

XVI.  A  HOUSE-PARTY 169 

XVII.  —AND  ITS  FINALE 186 

XVIII. 'THE  PERSISTENCE  OP  THE  ESTABLISHED      .     .     .  194 

XIX.  THE  WAGES   OF    SIN 209 

XX.  —Is  DEATH 218 

XXI.  PERSECUTION 230 

XXII.  DENUNCIATION 239 

XXIII.  THE  CHARIVARI 249 

XXIV.  WITHOUT  THE  PALE 260 

XXV.  THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 273 

v 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXVI.  WINNIPEG 291 

XXVII.  THE  NATURE   OP  THE   CINCH 303 

XXVIII.  THE  STRIKE 317 

XXIX.  THE  BLUFF 322 

XXX.  FIRE 335 

XXXI.  WHEREIN    THE    FATES   SUBSTITUTE  A   CHANGE 

OF  BILL 345 

XXXII.  THE  TRAIL  AGAIN 366 


THE   SETTLER 


THE  SETTLER 


THE     PARK     LANDS 

THE  clip  of  a  cutting  axe  flushed  a  heron  from  the 
bosom  of  a  reedy  lake  and  sent  him  soaring  in 
slow  spirals  until,  at  the  zenith  of  his  flight,  he  over 
looked  a  vast  champaign.  Far  to  the  south  a  yellow 
streak  marked  the  scorched  prairies  of  southern  Mani 
toba;  eastward  and  north  a  spruce  forest  draped  the 
land  in  a  mantle  of  gloom;  while  to  the  west  the  woods 
were  thrown  with  a  scattering  hand  over  a  vast  expanse 
of  rolling  prairie.  These  were  the  Park  Lands  of  the 
Fertile  Belt — a  beautiful  country,  rich,  fat-soiled,  rank 
with  flowers  and  herbage,  once  the  hunting-ground  of 
Cree  and  Ojibway,  but  now  passed  to  the  sterner  race 
whose  lonely  farmsteads  were  strewn  over  the  face  of 
the  land.  These  presented  a  deadly  likeness.  Each 
had  its  log -house,  its  huge  tent  of  firewood  upreared 
against  next  winter's  drift,  and  the  same  yellow  straw- 
stacks  dotted  their  fenceless  fields.  One  other  thing, 
too,  they  had  in  common — though  this  did  not  lie  to 
the  eye  of  the  heron — a  universal  mortgage,  legacy  of 
the  recent  boom,  covered  all. 

At  the  flap  of  the  great  bird's  wing  a  man  stepped 


4   kfcfc.^/  „.,   THE.  SETTLER 

from  the  'timber  and  Stood  watching  him  soar.  He  was 
a  tall  fellow,  lean  as  a  greyhound,  flat-flanked,  in  color 
neither  dark  nor  fair.  His  eyes  were  deep -set  and 
looked  out  from  a  face  that  was  burned  to  the  color  of 
a  brick.  His  nose  was  straight  and  large,  cheeks  well 
hollowed;  the  face  would  have  been  stern  but  for  the 
humor  that  lurked  about  the  mouth.  Taken  together, 
the  man  was  an  excellent  specimen  of  what  he  was — a 
young  American  of  the  settler  type. 

"Gone  plumb  out  of  sight,"  he  muttered,  rubbing  his 
dazzled  eyes.  "An*  he  wasn't  no  spring  chicken.  Time 
to  feed,  I  reckon." 

A  few  steps  carried  him  to  his  team,  a  rangy  yoke  of 
steers  which  were  tied  in  the  shade.  Having  fed  them, 
he  returned  to  his  work  and  chopped  steadily  until, 
towards  evening,  his  wagon  was  loaded  with  poplar 
rails.  Then  hitching,  he  mounted  his  load  and  "haw 
ed"  and  "geed"  his  way  through  the  forest.  As  he 
came  out  on  the  open  prairie  the  metallic  rattle  of  a 
mower  travelled  down  the  wind.  Stopping,  he  listened, 
while  a  shadow  deepened  his  tan. 

"Comes  from  Mori-ill's  big  slough,"  he  muttered,  whip 
ping  up  the  oxen.  "Who '11  it  be ?" 

Morrill,  his  near  neighbor,  was  sick  in  bed,  and  the 
rattle  could  only  mean  that  some  one  was  trespassing 
on  his  hay  rights — or  rather  the  privilege  which  he 
claimed  as  such  —  for  trespass  such  as  he  suspected 
was  simply  the  outward  sign  of  a  change  in  the  settle 
ment's  condition.  In  the  beginning  the  first -comers 
had  found  an  abundance  of  natural  fodder  growing  in 
the  sloughs,  where,  for  lack  of  a  water-shed,  the  spring 
thaws  stored  flood-waters.  There  was  plenty  then  for 
all.  But  with  thicker  settlement  anarchy  ensued.  New 
neighbors  grabbed  sloughs  on  unsettled  lands,  which 
old-timers  had  sealed  to  themselves,  and  so  forced  them 

2 


THE  PARK  LANDS 

to  steal  from  one  another.  Morrill  and  the  man  on 
the  wagon  had  "hayed"  together  for  the  last  three 
seasons,  which  fact  explained  the  significance  he  at 
tached  to  the  rattle  of  the  alien  mower. 

"It's  Hines!"  he  muttered  when,  five  minutes  later, 
he  sighted  the  mower  from  the  crown  of  a  roll.  "The 
son  of  a  gun!'1 

The  man  was  running  the  first  swath  around  a  mile- 
long  slough  which  lay  in  the  trough  of  two  great  rolls. 
It  was  a  pretty  piece  of  hay,  thick,  rank,  and  so  long 
that  one  might  have  tied  two  spears  together  across  a 
horse's  back.  Indeed,  when  the  settler  rattled  down 
the  bank  and  stopped  his  oxen  they  were  hidden  to 
the  horns,  which  fact  accounted  for  Hines  not  seeing 
them  until  his  team  brought  against  the  load. 

"Hullo!"  he  cried,  startled.  "Didn't  expect  to  see 
you,  Carter!" 

' '  Don't  reckon  you  did, ' '  the  settler  replied.  The  shadow 
was  now  gone  from  his  face.  Cool,  cheerful,  unconcerned, 
he  sat  in  the  mower's  path,  swinging  an  easy  leg. 

Hines  gave  him  an  uneasy  glance.  "Been  cutting 
poles?"  he  asked,  affecting  nonchalance. 

"Yes.  Corral  needed  raising  a  couple  of  rails,"  Car 
ter  carelessly  answered. 

Encouraged,  Hines  made  an  observation  about  the 
crops  which  the  other  answered,  and  so  the  talk  drifted 
on  until  Hines,  feeling  that  he  had  established  a  footing, 
said,  "Well,  I  must  be  moving."  But  as  he  backed 
his  horses  to  drive  around,  the  steers  lurched  forward 
and  again  blocked  the  way. 

"Pretty  cut  of  hay  this."  Carter  ignored  the  other's 
savage  glance.  "Ought  to  turn  Morrill  thirty  tons, 
don't  you  reckon?" 

Hines  shuffled  uneasily  in  the  mower  seat.  "I  didn't 
allow,"  he  growled, "  as  Morrill  would  want  hay  this  year  ?" 

3 


THE  SETTLER 

"No?"     The  monosyllable  was  subtly  sarcastic. 

Hines  flushed.  "What  kin  a  dead  man  do  with 
hay?"  he  snarled. 

"IsMorrill  dead?" 

"No!  But  Doc  Ellis  tol'  me  at  Stinkin'  Water  as  he 
couldn't  live  through  winter."  He  almost  yelled  it; 
opposition  was  galling  his  savage  temper. 

"So  you  thought  you'd  beat  the  funeral?"  Carter 
jeered.  "Savin'  man!  Well — he  ain't  dead  yet?" 

The  challenge  was  unmistakable.  But  though  brutal, 
ferocious  as  a  wolf,  Hines  shared  the  animal's  preferences 
for  an  easy  prey.  Corner  him  and  he  would  turn,  snarl 
ing,  but  his  was  the  temper  which  takes  no  chances  with 
an  equal  force.  Now  he  lived  up  to  his  tradition.  Vi 
ciously  setting  his  teeth,  he  awaited  the  other's  action. 

But  Carter  was  in  no  hurry.  Leaning  back  on  his 
load,  he  sprawled  at  ease,  turning  his  eyes  to  the  fathom 
less  vault  above.  Time  crept  on.  The  oxen  ceased 
puffing  and  cropped  the  grass  about  them,  the  horses 
switched  impatience  of  the  flies.  The  sun  dropped  and 
hung  like  a  split  orange  athwart  the  horizon,  the  hollows 
blued  with  shadows,  which  presently  climbed  the  knolls 
and  extinguished  their  golden  lights.  Soon  the  last  red 
ray  kindled  the  forest,  silver  specks  dusted  the  darken 
ing  sky,  only  the  west  blushed  with  the  afterglow. 

Hines  tired  first.  "Quitting- time,"  he  growled,  back 
ing  his  horses. 

"Took  you  a  long  time  to  find  it  out,"  Carter  drawled, 
giving  the  words  a  significance  the  other  had  not  intend 
ed.  "But  grace  is  always  waiting  for  the  sinner.  So 
long!  But  say!"  he  called  after  the  disappearing  figure, 
"if  you  hear  any  one  inquiring  after  this  slough,  you  can 
tell  them  as  Merrill's  goin'  to  cut  it  to-morrow." 

Whipping  up  his  oxen,  he  swung  up  the  bank  and 
headed  south  on  Merrill's  hay  trail.  Fresh  from  their 

4 


THE  PARK  LANDS 

rest,  the  steers  stepped  out  to  a  lively  rattling  of  chains, 
and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  stopped  of  their  own  volition 
before  his  cabin. 

As  Carter  entered,  the  sick  man  leaned  on  his  elbow 
and  looked  up  at  his  magnificent  inches:  he  loomed 
like  a  giant  in  the  gloom  of  the  cabin.  There  was  envy 
in  the  glance  but  no  spite.  It  was  the  look  the  sick 
bestow  on  the  rudely  healthy.  For  Carter's  physique 
was  a  constant  reminder  to  Morrill  of  his  own  lost 
strength — he  had  been  a  college  athlete,  strong  and 
well  set-up,  the  kind  of  man  to  whom  women  render 
the  homage  of  a  second  lingering  glance.  Three  years 
ago,  inherited  lung  trouble  had  driven  him  from  the 
Eastern  city  in  which  he  had  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
pretty  law  practice,  but  the  dry  air  and  open  life  of  the 
central  plains  had  not  checked  the  ravages  of  the 
disease.  Still,  though  but  the  wraith  of  his  former  self, 
he  had  kept  a  brave  face,  and  now  he  cheerfully  an 
swered  Carter's  greeting. 

"Cast  your  eye  over  this,"  he  said,  holding  out  an 
open  letter.  "It's  from  my  sister  Helen." 

Handling  it  as  tenderly  as  though  it  were  a  feather 
from  the  wing  of  love,  Carter  held  the  letter  to  the  lamp. 
It  was  written  in  a  small,  feminine  hand  which  took  all 
manner  of  flourishes  unto  itself  as  it  ran  along  the  lines. 
Carter  regarded  them  with  a  look  in  which  surprise 
struggled  with  respect.  "Oh,  shore!"  he  laughed  at 
last.  "Them  curly  cues  is  mighty  pretty,  Bert,  but  it 
would  take  too  long  for  me  to  cipher  'em  out.  What's 
it  all  about?" 

"She's  coming  out.  Arrives  in  Lone  Tree  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"Phew!"  Carter  whistled.     "Short  notice." 

He  thoughtfully  stroked  his  chin.  Lone  Tree  lay 
sixty  miles  to  the  south  and  the  Eastern  mail-train  came 

5 


THE  SETTLER 

in  at  noon.  But  this  was  not  the  cause  of  his  worry. 
His  ponies  could  cover  the  distance  within  the  time. 
But  there  was  Hines.  If  he  did  not  try  the  slough, 
others  might.  Morrill  mistook  his  silence. 

"I  hate  to  ask  you  to  go,"  he  said,  hesitatingly. 
"You've  done  so  much  for  me." 

' '  Done  nothing, ' '  the  big  man  laughed.  ' '  'Twasn't  that. 
Jes'  now  I  warned  Hines  off  that  big  slough  o'  yours, 
an'  I  intended  to  begin  cutting  it  to-morrow  morning." 

Morrill  impulsively  extended  his  hand.  ''You're  a 
good  fellow,  Carter." 

"Shucks!"  the  other  laughed.  "Ain't  we  two  the 
only  Yanks  in  these  parts?  But  say!  won't  she  find 
this  a  bit  rough?" 

Morrill  glanced  discontentedly  at  the  log  walls,  the 
soap-boxes  which  served  for  seats,  the  home-made  table, 
and  the  peg  ladder  that  led  to  the  loft  above.  Three 
years'  hard  work  had  rubbed  the  romance  from  his 
rough  surroundings,  but  he  remembered  that  it  had 
once  been  there.  "Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered. 
"She'll  like  it.  Has  all  the  romantic  notions  about 
keeping  home  in  a  log-house,  you  see." 

"Never  had  'em,"  the  other  mused,  "though  mebbe 
that  was  on  account  of  being  born  in  one.  What's 
bringing  her  out?" 

"Well,  now  that  father's  dead  I'm  all  the  kin  she's 
got.  He  didn't  leave  anything  worth  mentioning,  so 
Helen  has  to  choose  between  a  place  in  a  store  and 
keeping  house  for  me.  But  say!  your  team's  moving! 
Don't  tell  her  I'm  sick,"  he  called,  as  Carter  rushed  for  the 
door.  ' '  She'd  worry,  and  think  I  was  worse  than  I  am." 

"Couldn't  very  well,"  Carter  muttered,  as  he  ran 
after  his  team.  "No,  she  really  couldn't,"  he  repeated, 
as  he  caught  up  and  climbed  upon  his  load.  "Poor 
chap! — An'  poor  little  girl!" 

6 


II 

A     DEPUTATION 

T^IFTY  miles  in  a  day  is  big  travel  in  the  East,  yet  a 
1  team  of  northern  ponies  will,  if  the  load  be  light,  run 
it  on  three  legs.  The  fourth,  unless  cinched  with  a  kick- 
ing-strap,  is  likely  to  be  in  the  buck-board  half  the  time; 
but  if  the  driver  is  good  at  dodging  he  need  not  use  a  strap. 
Starting  next  morning  at  sunrise,  Carter  ran  through 
the  settlements,  fed  at  the  mission  in  the  valley  of  the 
Assiniboin  at  noon,  then,  climbing  out,  he  rattled 
south  through  the  arid  plains  which  cumber  the  earth 
from  the  river  to  Beaver  Creek.  -  There  Vickery,  the 
keeper  of  the  stopping-house,  yelled  to  him  to  put  in 
and  feed.  He  had  not  seen  a  man  for  two  weeks,  and 
his  wells  of  speech  were  full  to  overflowing.  But  Carter 
shook  denial.  Far  off  a  dark  smudge  rose  from  under 
the  edge  of  the  world — the  smoke  of  the  express,  he 
thought.  One  would  have  believed  it  within  a  dozen 
miles,  yet  when,  an  hour  later,  he  rattled  into  Lone 
Tree,  it  seemed  no  nearer  than  when  first  it  impinged 
on  the  quivering  horizon.  This  appearance,  however, 
was  deceptive  as  the  first,  for  he  had  scarcely  unhitched 
at  the  livery  before  an  engine  and  two  toy  cars  stole 
out  from  under  the  smudge. 

"General  manager's  private  car,"  the  station  agent 
answered   Carter's   inquiry.     "The  old  man  lays  over 
here  to  talk  with  a  deputation.     It's  over  at  the  hotel 
low,  feeding  and  liquoring  up." 

7 


THE  SETTLER 

"The  old  grievance?"  Carter  asked. 

The  agent  nodded.  "That  and  others.  They  say 
we're  coining  their  flesh  and  blood.  You  should  hear 
old  man  Cummings  orate  on  that.  And  they  accuse 
us  of  exacting  forty  bushels  of  wheat  out  of  every  hun 
dred  we  tote  out  to  the  seaboard." 

"Wheat  at  forty-five,  freight  to  Montreal  at  twenty- 
seven?"  Carter  mused.  "Don't  that  pretty  near  size 
it,  Hooper?" 

"Is  that  our  fault?"  the  agent  ruffled,  like  an  irate 
gobbler.  "Did  we  freeze  their  wheat  ?  Sound  grain  is 
worth  sixty-eight,  and  if  they  will  farm  at  the  north  pole 
they  must  expect  to  get  frozen." 

"And  if  you  will  railroad  at  the  north  pole,"  Carter 
suggested,  "you  ought  to — " 

"Get  all  that's  coming  to  us,"  the  agent  finished. 
"But  we  don't.  Our  line  runs  through  fifteen  hundred 
miles  of  country  that  don't  pay  for  axle-grease.  We 
must  make  running  expenses,  and  ought  to  pay  a  rea 
sonable  interest  to  our  stockholders,  though  we  haven't 
yet.  The  settled  lands  have  to  bear  hauling  charges 
on  the  unsettled.  But  these  fellows  don't  see  our  side 
of  it.  Where  would  they  be  without  the  line,  anyway  ? 
Now  answer  me  that,  Carter." 

"Back  East,  landless,  homeless,  choring  for  sixteen  a 
month  an'  board,"  Carter  slowly  answered.  "I'm  not 
bucking  your  railroad,  Hooper.  But  here's  the  point — 
your  people  and  the  government  sent  out  all  sorts  of 
lying  literature  an'  filled  these  fellows  with  the  idea 
that  they  were  going  to  get  rich  quick;  whereas  this  is 
a  poor  man's  country  an*  will  be  for  a  generation  to 
come.  Five  generations  of  farmers  couldn't  have  built 
this  line  which  one  generation  must  pay  for.  There's 
the  point.  They've  clapped  a  mortgage  an*  a  fifteen- 
hundred-mile  handicap  on  their  future,  an*  the  interest 

a 


A  DEPUTATION 

is  going  to  bear  their  noses  hard  down  on  the  grindstone. 
They'll  make  a  living,  but  they  ain't  going  to  have  much 
of  a  time.  Their  children's  children  will  reap  the  profit 
off  their  sweat." 

"No,"  the  agent  profanely  agreed,  "they  ain't  going 
to  have  a  hell  of  a  time."  Having  spent  his  mature 
years  in  one  continuous  wrangle  over  freights  and  rates, 
it  was  positively  disconcerting  to  find  a  farmer  who 
could  appreciate  the  necessities  of  railroad  economics, 
and  after  a  thoughtful  pause  the  agent  said,  "You  ain't 
so  slow — for  a  farmer." 

"Thank  you,"  Carter  gravely  answered.  "Some  day, 
if  I'm  good,  I  may  rise  to  the  heights  of  railroading." 

The  agent  grinned  appreciatively.  "Coming  back  to 
the  deputation,  these  fellows  might  as  well  tackle  a 
grizzly  as  the  old  man.  There's  not  enough  of  you  to 
supply  grease  for  a  freight-train's  wheels." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Carter  gently  murmured. 

Ten  minutes  ago  the  agent  would  have  hotly  proved 
his  point;  now  he  replied,  quite  mildly:  "If  you  think 
different,  tag  on  to  the  deputation.  Here  it  comes,  all 
het-up  with  wrongs  and  whiskey." 

' '  There's  Bill  Cummings ! ' '  Carter  indicated  an  elderly 
man,  very  white  of  beard,  very  red  of  face,  and  trans 
parently  innocent  in  expression. 

"He's  bell-wether,"  the  agent  said,  grinning.  Then, 
as  the  approaching  locomotive  blew  two  sharp  blasts, 
he  added,  "Blamed  if  the  old  man  won't  make  mutton 
of  the  entire  flock  if  they  don't  clear  out  of  the  way!" 

A  quick  scattering  averted  the  catastrophe  while  in 
creasing  the  heat  of  the  deputation.  Very  much  dis- 
rumpled,  it  filed  into  the  car,  with  Carter  tagging  on 
behind. 

The  general  manager,  who  was  smoking  by  an  open 
window,  tossed  out  his  cigar  as  he  rose.  Not  a  tall 

9 


THE  SETTLER 

man,  power  yet  expressed  itself  in  every  movement  of 
his  thick-set  body;  it  lurked  in  his  keen  gray  glance; 
was  given  off  like  electrical  energy  in  his  few  crisp  words 
of  welcome.  From  the  eyes,  placed  well  apart  in  the 
massive  head,  to  the  strong  jaw  his  every  feature  ex 
pressed  his  graduation  in  the  mastership  of  men;  told 
eloquently  of  his  wonderful  record,  his  triumphs  over 
man  and  nature.  Beginning  a  section  hand,  he  had 
filled  almost  every  position  in  the  gift  of  his  road,  driv 
ing  spikes  in  early  days  with  the  same  expertness  he 
now  evidenced  in  directing  its  enormous  affairs — the 
road  which  had  sprung  from  his  own  fertile  imagina 
tion;  the  road  which,  from  nothing,  he  had  called  into 
being.  Where  others  had  only  discerned  mountains, 
gulfs,  canons,  trackless  forest,  he  had  seen  a  great  trunk 
line  with  a  hundred  feeders  —  mills,  mines,  factories, 
farms,  and  steamships  plying  to  the  Orient  for  trade. 
And  because  his  was  the  faith  that  moves  mountains, 
the  magnificent  dream  had  taken  form  in  wood  and 
iron. 

Purblind  to  all  but  their  own  interests,  the  settlers 
saw  only  the  proximate  result  of  that  mighty  travail— 
the  palace-car  with  its  luxurious  fittings. 

"We  pay  for  this,"  Carter's  neighbor  growled. 

"My, but  I'd  like  his  job!"  another  whispered.  "Noth 
ing  to  do  but  sit  there  and  dictate  a  few  letters." 

A  third  gave  the  figures  of  the  manager's  salary,  while 
a  fourth  added  that  it  was  screwed  out  of  the  farmers. 
So  they  muttered  their  private  envy  while  Cummings 
voiced  their  public  grievance.  When  surveys  were  run 
for  the  trunk  line,  settlers  had  swarmed  in,  pre-empting 
land  on  either  side  of  the  right  of  way,  and  when,  to 
avoid  certain  engineering  problems,  the  surveys  were 
shifted  south,  they  found  themselves  from  fifty  to  sixty 
miles  from  a  market.  A  branch  had  been  promised — 

10 


A  DEPUTATION 

"When  settlement  and  traffic  justify  it."  The  man 
ager  cut  the  oration  short. 

He  had  listened  quietly  while  Cummings  talked  of 
rights,  lawsuits,  and  government  intervention;  now  he 
launched  his  ultimatum  on  the  following  silence  :  ' '  Gen 
tlemen,  our  road  is  not  run  for  fun,  but  profit,  and 
though  we  should  very  much  like  to  accommodate  you, 
it  is  impossible  under  the  circumstances.  I  am  pleased 
to  have  met  you,  and  " — the  corners  of  the  firm  mouth 
twitched  ever  so  slightly — ''and  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
meet  you  again  when  you  can  advance  something  more 
to  our  advantage  than  costs  and  suits.  I  bid  you  good- 
day." 

Business-like,  terse,  devoid  of  feeling,  the  laconic  an 
swer  acted  upon  the  deputation  like  a  blow  in  the  face. 
Cummings  actually  recoiled,  and  his  expression  of  sheep- 
like  surprise,  baffled  wonder,  innocent  anger  set  Car 
ter  chuckling.  He  was  still  smiling  as  he  shouldered 
forward. 

"A  minute,  please." 

The  manager  glanced  at  his  watch.  "I  can't  spare 
you  much  more." 

"I  won't  need  it,"  Carter  answered,  and  so  took  up 
the  case. 

Humorously  allowing  that  Cummings  had  stepped  off 
with  the  wrong  foot,  that  he  and  his  fellows  had  no  case 
in  law,  Carter  went  on,  in  short,  crisp  sentences,  to  give 
the  number  of  settlers  on  the  old  survey,  the  acreage 
under  cultivation  and  of  newly  broken  ground,  the 
lumbering  outlook  in  the  spruce  forests  north  of  the 
Park  Lands,  the  number  of  tye-camps  already  there 
established,  finishing  with  a  brief  description  of  the  rich 
cattle  country  the  proposed  line  would  tap. 

Ten  minutes  had  added  themselves  to  the  first  while 
he  was  talking,  but  the  manager's  gray  glance  had 

ii 


THE  SETTLER 

evinced  no  impatience.  "Now,"  he  commented,  "we 
have  something  to  go  on.  The  settlements  alone  would 
not  justify  us  in  building,  but  with  the  lumber — and 
colonization  prospects — "  He  mused  a  while,  then,  after 
expressing  regrets  for  the  haste  that  called  him  away,  he 
said,  "But  if  you  will  put  all  this  and  other  information 
into  writing,  Mr.  Carter,  I'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

"He's  big,  the  old  man."  Nodding  at  the  black  trail 
of  smoke,  the  agent  thus  commented  on  his  superior  five 
minutes  later.  Then,  indicating  the  deputation  which 
was  making  its  jubilant  way  back  to  the  clapboard  ho 
tel,  he  said,  "They  ain't  giving  you  all  the  credit,  are 
they?" 

Shrugging  at  the  last  remark,  Carter  answered  the 
first.  "He's  a  big  man,  shorely.  But,  bless  you  " — he 
flipped  a  thumb  at  the  delegation — "they  don't  see  it. 
Any  of  'em  is  willing  to  allow  that  the  manager  has  had 
chances  that  didn't  fly  by  his  particular  roost — just  as 
though  the  same  opportunity  hadn't  been  tweaking  him 
by  the  nose  this  last  twenty  years.  There  it  lay,  loose, 
loose  enough  for  people  to  break  their  shins  on,  till  this 
particular  man  picked  it  up.  He's  big.  Puts  me  in 
mind  of  them  robber  barons  you  read  of  in  history. 
Big,  powerful  chaps,  who  trod  down  everything  that 
came  in  their  own  way  while  dealing  out  a  rough  sort 
of  justice.  There's  a  crowd" — he  looked  at  the  agent 
interrogatively — "that  haven't  had  what's  coming  to 
them.  In  their  times  moral  suasion,  as  the  parsons  call 
it,  hadn't  been  invented  and  folks  were  a  heap  blooded. 
A  little  bleeding  once  in  a  while  kept  down  the  tempera 
ture,  and  I've  always  allowed  that  the  barons  prevented 
a  sight  more  murder  than  they  did."  Then,  nailing  his 
point,  he  finished:  "The  historians  fixed  a  cold  deck  for 
them  like  the  one  they'll  deal  this  general  manager. 
But  you  can't  stop  the  world.  She  waggles  in  spite  of 

12 


A  DEPUTATION 

them,  and  it's  the  big  men  that  make  her  go.  But 
there!  I  must  eat.  What  does  your  ticker  say  of  the 
express?" 

"Half  an  hour  late.  You'll  just  have  nice  time." 
And  as  he  watched  the  tall  figure  swinging  across  the 
tracks,  the  agent  gave  words  to  a  thought  that  was 
even  then  in  the  general  manager's  mind — "  There's  a 
division  superintendent  going  to  seed  on  a  farm." 

Having  made  up  ten  minutes,  however,  the  train 
rolled  in  while  Carter  was  still  at  dinner,  and  as — for 
some  motive  too  subtle  for  even  his  own  definition — he 
had  not  mentioned  her  coming,  Miss  Helen  Morrill  had 
become  a  subject  of  bashful  curiosity  to  assembled  Lone 
Tree  before  he  came  dashing  across  the  tracks.  Apart 
from  his  size,  sunburn,  and  certain  intelligence  of  ex 
pression,  there  was  really  nothing  to  distinguish  this 
particular  young  man  from  the  people  who,  at  home, 
were  not  on  her  visiting-list,  and  if  polite  the  girl  turned 
rather  a  cold  ear  to  a  magnificently  evolved  and  smooth 
ly  told  set  of  lies  as  he  escorted  her  over  to  the  hotel. 
Morrill  was  busy  with  the  hay,  and  as  he,  Carter,  had  to 
come  to  town  for  a  mower  casting  he  had  agreed  to  bring 
her  out.  Her  brother  was  well!  A  bit  delicate!  He 
dare  not  raise  her  hopes  too  high.  Oh,  he'd  pull  through ! 
This  clear  northern  air — and  so  forth. 

That  clear  northern  air!  Glowing  with  color,  infinite, 
flat,  the  prairies  basked  under  the  afternoon  sun.  From 
the  car  windows  the  girl  had  seen  them  unfolding :  the 
great  screeds  of  God  on  which  he  had  written  his  won 
ders.  Now  nothing  interposed  between  her  and  their 
vast  expanse.  Swimming  in  lambent  light  they  reached 
out  through  the  quivering  distance  till  merged  with  the 
turquoise  sky.  After  she  had  dined,  Carter  showed  her, 
from  the  hotel  veranda,  the  train  from  which  she  had 
dismounted,  no  larger  than  a  toy,  puffing  defiance  at  a 

13 


THE  SETTLER 

receding  horizon.  Other  things  he  told  her — curious  facts, 
strange  happenings  drawled  forth  easily  with  touches  of 
humor  that  kept  her  interested  and  laughing.  Not  until 
the  moon's  magic  translated  the  prairie's  golden  sheen 
to  ashes,  and  she  unconsciously  offered  her  hand  as  she 
rose  to  retire,  did  she  realize  how  completely  she  had 
cancelled  her  first  impression. 

It  was  then  that  Lone  Tree  closed  in  on  Carter  with 
invitations  to  drink  and  requests  for  verification  of  a 
theory  that  the  northern  settlement  was  spreading  itself 
on  educational  lines.  "She's  a  right  smart-looking  girl," 
said  the  store-keeper,  its  principal  exponent,  "and  Silver 
Creek  is  surely  going  to  turn  out  some  scholars." 

But  he  clucked  his  sympathy  when  he  heard  the 
truth.  "An*  you  say  he's  having  hemerrages?  Shore, 
shore!  Here,  come  over  to  the  store.  That  girl  don't 
look  like  she'd  been  raised  on  sow-belly,  an'  sick  folks  is 
mighty  picky  in  their  eating." 

So,  by  moonlight,  the  buck-board  was  loaded  up  with 
jams,  jellies,  fruits,  and  meats,  the  best  in  stock  and  of 
fabulous  value  at  frontier  prices.  While  the  evil  deed 
was  being  perpetrated  neither  man  looked  at  the  other. 
The  store  -  keeper  cloaked  his  villany  by  learned  dis 
course  of  freight  rates,  while  Carter  spoke  indifferently 
of  crops.  Only  the  parting  hand-shake  revealed  each 
conspirator  to  the  other. 


Ill 

THE    TRAIL 

O  make  Flynn's  for  noon,"  Carter  had  said  the 
preceding  evening,  "we  shall  have  to  be  early 
on  the  trail."  And  there  was  approbation  in  his  glance 
when  he  found  Helen  Morrill  waiting  upon  the  veranda. 

"What  pretty  ponies!"  she  exclaimed,  quickly  adding, 
1 '  Are  they — tame  ? ' ' 

"Regular  sheep,"  he  reassured  her. 

However,  she  still  dubiously  eyed  the  "sheep,"  which 
were  pawing  the  high  heavens  in  beliance  of  their  pacific 
character,  until,  catching  the  humorous  twinkle  in  Car 
ter's  eye,  she  saw  that  he  was  gauging  her  courage. 
Then  she  stepped  in.  As  they  felt  her  weight  the  ponies 
plunged  out  and  raced  off  down  the  trail;  but  Carter's 
arm  eased  her  back  to  her  seat,  and  when,  flushed  and 
just  a  little  trembling,  she  was  able  to  look  back  Lone 
Tree  lay  far  behind,  its  grain-sheds  looking  for  all  the 
world  like  red  Noah's  arks  on  a  yellow  carpet.  Over 
them,  but  beyond  the  horizon,  hung  a  black  smudge, 
mark  of  a  distant  freight- train.  Wondering  if  one  ever 
lost  sight  of  things  in  this  country  of  distances,  she 
turned  back  to  the  ponies,  which  had  now  found  a 
legitimate  outlet  for  their  energies,  and  were  knocking 
off  the  miles  at  ten  to  the  hour. 

Carter  drew  a  loose  rein,  but  she  noticed  that  even 
when  talking  he  kept  the  team  in  the  tail  of  his  eye. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  her  question,  "that  Devil  horse 


THE  SETTLER 

will  bear  watching,  and  Death,  the  mare,  is  just  about 
as  sudden.  Why  did  I  name  her  that?"  He  twinkled 
down  upon  her.  "You  mightn't  feel  complimented  if 
I  told." 

"Well — if  I  must,"  he  drawled  when  she  pressed  the 
question.  "You  see  there's  two  things  that  can  get 
away  with  a  right  smart  man — death  and  woman.  So, 
being  a  female — there!  I  told  you  that  you  wouldn't  be 
complimented." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  she  laughed.  "Like  curses, 
slights  on  my  sex  come  home  to  roost,  Mr.  Carter. 
You  are  not  dead  yet." 

"Nor  married,"  he  retorted. 

This  morning  they  had  taken  up  their  acquaintance 
ship  where  it  was  laid  down  the  night  before,  but  now 
something  in  his  manner — it  was  not  freedom ;  assurance 
would  better  describe  it — caused  a  reversion  to  her  first 
coldness. 

"Doubtless,"  she  said,  with  condescension,  "some 
good  girl  will  take  pity  on  you." 

He  looked  squarely  in  her  eyes.  "Mebbe  —  though 
the  country  isn't  overstocked.  Still,  they've  been  com 
ing  in  some  of  late." 

The  suddenness  of  it  made  her  gasp.  How  dare  he  ? 
Even  if  he  had  been  a  man  of  her  own  station !  Turning, 
she  looked  off  and  away,  giving  him  a  cold,  if  pretty, 
shoulder,  till  instinct  told  her  that  he  was  making  good 
use  of  his  opportunities.  But  when  she  turned  back 
he  was  discreetly  eying  the  ponies,  apparently  lost  in 
thought. 

His  preoccupation  permitted  minute  study,  and  in 
five  minutes  she  had  memorized  his  every  feature,  from 
the  clean  profile  to  the  strong  chin  and  humorous  mouth. 
A  clean,  wholesome  face  she  thought  it.  She  failed, 
however,  to  classify  him*  for,  despite  his  homely  speech, 

16 


THE  TRAIL 

he  simply  would  not  fit  in  with  the  butchers,  bakers, 
and  candle-stick  makers  of  her  limited  experience.  One 
thing  she  felt,  and  that  very  vividly :  he  was  not  to  be 
snubbed  or  slighted.  So — 

"Do  we  follow  the  railroad  much  farther?"  she  asked. 

"A  smart  mile,"  he  answered.  Then,  with  a  sidelong 
glance  at  the  space  between  them,  he  added,  "I  wouldn't 
sit  on  the  rail." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  coldly.  "I'm  quite  comfort 
able." 

"Tastes  differ,"  he  genially  commented.  Then,  stretch 
ing  his  whip,  he  added,  "See  that  wolf!" 

In  a  flash  she  abolished  the  space.  "Oh,  where ?  Will 
he— follow  us?" 

"Mebbe  not,"  he  said,  adding,  as  he  noticed  a  dispo 
sition  on  her  part  to  edge  out,  "But  he  shorely  looks 
hungry." 

It  was  only  a  coyote,  and  afterwards  she  could  never 
recall  the  episode  without  a  blush,  but  the  fact  remains 
that  while  the  grizzled  apparition  crowned  a  roll,  she 
threw  dignity  overboard  and  clung  to  Carter.  It  was 
well,  too,  that  she  did,  for  more  from  deviltry  than  fear 
of  the  gray  shadow  the  ponies  just  then  bolted. 

Ensued  a  minute  of  dust,  wind,  bumpings;  then, 
without  any  attempt  to  check  their  speed,  Carter  got 
the  mad  little  brutes  back  to  the  trail.  Several  furious 
miles  had  passed  before,  answering  a  gasping  question 
as  to  whether  he  couldn't  stop  them,  that  imperturbable 
driver  said: 

"I  ain't  trying  very  hard.  They're  going  our  way, 
and  we've  got  to  hit  this  trail  some  licks  to  make  Flynn's 
by  noon.  He's  the  first  settler  north  of  the  valley." 

They  did  hit  it  some  "licks."  One  after  another  the 
yellow  miles  slid  beneath  the  buck-board,  deadly  in  their 
sameness.  With  the  exception  of  that  lone  coyote,  they 

1 


THE  SETTLER 

saw  no  life.  Right  and  left  the  tawny  prairies  reached 
out  to  the  indefinite' horizon ;  neither  cabin  nor  farm 
stead  broke  their  sweep;  save  where  the  dark  growths 
of  the  Assiniboin  Valley  drew  a  dull  line  to  the  north, 
no  spot  of  color  marred  that  great  monochrome.  Just 
before  they  came  to  the  valley  Carter  dashed  around 
the  Red  River  cart  of  a  Cree  squaw.  Shortly  after  they 
came  on  her  lord  driving  industrious  heels  into  the  ribs 
of  a  ragged  pony.  Then  the  trail  shot  through  a  bluff — 
rugged,  riven,  buttressed  with  tall  headlands  to  whose 
scarred  sides  dark  woods  clung,  the  mile-wide  valley  lay 
before  them.  Up  from  its  depths  rose  the  cry  of  a  bell. 
Clear,  silvery,  resonant,  it  flowed  with  the  stream, 
echoed  in  dark  ravines,  filled  the  air  with  its  rippling 
music. 

"Catholic  mission,"  Carter  said,  and  as  he  spoke  the 
ponies  plunged  after  the  trail  which  fell  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  into  a  black  ravine.  The  girl  felt  as  though 
the  earth  had  dropped  from  under,  then,  bump!  the 
wheels  struck  and  went  slithering  and  ricochetting 
among  the  ruts  and  bowlders.  A  furious  burst  down 
the  last  slopes  and  they  were  galloping  out  on  the  bot 
tom-lands. 

' '  Oh ! ' '  she  exclaimed,  regaining  breath.  ' '  What  reck 
lessness  !" 

"Now  do  you  really  call  that  reckless?"  His  mild 
surprise  would  have  been  convincing  but  for  the  wicked 
twinkle. 

"Of  course — I  do,"  she  said,  choking  with  fright  and 
indignation.  "I  believe — you  did  it  on  purpose." 

"Well,  well."  He  shook  a  sorrowful  head.  "And  to 
think  I  shouldn't  have  knowed  it!  Look  out!" 

They  had  swung  by  the  log  mission  with  the  black- 
robed  priest  in  the  door,  circled  the  ruins  of  a  Hudson 
Bay  fort,  and  now  the  Assiniboin  Ford  had  suddenly 

18 


THE  TRAIL 

opened  before  them.  Fed  fat  by  mountain  streams,  the 
river  poured,  a  yeasty  flood,  over  the  ford,  a  roaring 
terror  of  swift  waters.  While  the  girl  caught  her  breath 
they  were  in  to  the  hubs,  the  thills;  then  the  green 
waters  licked  up  through  the  buck-board  staves.  Half 
wading,  half  swimming,  the  ponies  were  held  to  the 
narrow  passage  by  that  master-hand.  On  either  side 
smooth,  sucking  mouths  drew  down  to  dangerous  cur 
rents,  and,  reaching,  Carter  flicked  one  with  his  whip. 

"Cree  Injun  drowned  there  last  flood." 

A  moment  later  he  turned  the  ponies  sharply  up 
stream  and  told  of  two  settlers  who  had  lingered  a  sec 
ond  too  long  on  that  turn.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  Helen 
as  though  each  race,  every  eddy,  perpetuated  the  mem 
ory  of  some  unfortunate.  She  sighed  her  relief  when, 
with  a  rush,  the  ponies  took  them  up  the  bank,  out  of 
the  roar  and  swirl,  into  the  shade  of  a  ravine. 

Glancing  up,  she  caught  Carter  regarding  her  with 
serious  admiration.  "You'll  do,"  he  said.  Then  she 
realized  that  this  man,  whom  she  had  been  trying  to 
classify  with  her  city  tradesmen,  had  been  trying  her 
out  according  to  his  standards.  The  thought  brought 
sudden  confusion.  She  blushed.  But  with  ready  tact 
he  turned  and  kept  up  a  rapid  fire  of  comment  on  the 
country  through  which  they  were  passing  till  she  re 
covered  her  composure. 

For  they  were  now  in  the  Park  Lands,  the  antithesis 
of  the  arid  plains  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Flower- 
bespangled,  dotted  with  clump  poplar,  retaining  in 
August  a  suggestion  of  spring's  verdure,  the  prairies 
rolled  off  and  away  in  long  earth  billows.  Everywhere 
rank  herbage  bowed  in  sunlit  waves  under  the  wind. 
Nor  was  there  lack  of  life.  Here  an  elk  sprang  from 
behind  a  bluff.  A  band  of  jumping  deer  followed  him 
over  the  horizon.  There  a  covey  of  prairie-chickens  rose 

19 


THE  SETTLER 

on  whirring  wing;  a  fox  grinned  at  them  from  the  crest 
of  a  sand-hill.  A  rich  country,  the  girl  was  remarking 
on  the  lack  of  settlers  when  Carter  extended  his  whip. 

"There's  the  first  of  them.     That's  Flynn's  place." 

Speeding  through  the  enormous  grain-fields  west  of 
Winnipeg,  Helen  had  seen  from  the  cars  solitary  cabins 
of  frame  or  sod,  pinned  down,  as  it  were,  in  the  exact 
centre  of  a  carpet  of  wheat,  emphasizing  with  their  lone 
liness  that  vastness  about  them.  But  this  was  different, 
more  homelike,  if  quite  as  strange.  Built  of  hewn  logs 
and  lime-washed,  Flynn's  house  nestled  with  its  stables 
and  out  -  buildings  under  the  wing  of  a  poplar  bluff. 
Around  it,  of  course,  stretched  the  wheat;  but  here  it 
was  merely  an  oasis,  a  bright  shoal  in  the  sea  of  brown 
that  flowed  on  to  a  distant  dark  line,  the  spruce  forests 
of  the  Riding  Mountains. 

Bathed  in  sunshine,  with  cattle  wandering  at  will, 
knee-deep  in  pasture,  it  made  a  beautiful  picture.  The 
girl  came  under  its  spell.  She  felt  the  freedom,  the 
witchery  of  those  sun-washed  spaces;  their  silence?, 
whispers,  cloud-shadows,  the  infinity  which  broods  upon 
them. 

"Is  our  place  like  this?''  she  asked. 

"Prettier."  Carter  indicated  the  distant  forest  line. 
"We  are  close  in  to  the  bush  and  the  country  is  broken 
up  into  woodland,  lake,  and  rolling  prairie." 

"Then  I  can  be  happy,"  she  sighed. 

Quickly  averting  his  eyes  that  their  sympathy  might 
not  dampen  her  mood,  he  drew  her  attention  to  a  man 
who  was  cutting  green  fodder  on  the  far  side  of  the 
wheat-field. 

"There's  Flynn." 


IV 

THE     COYOTE     SNAPS 

A  TALL  Irishman  of  the  gaunt  Tipperary  breed, 
f\  Flynn  straightened  as  Carter  reined  in,  and  thrust 
out  a  mighty  paw.  "Ye 're  welcome,  ma'am;  an'  ye've 
come  in  season,  for  the  woman's  just  called  to  dinner. 
Just  drive  on  an'  unhitch  before  the  door." 

"Yes,  it's  a  fine  stand  of  wheat." 

Walking  beside  them,  he  replied  to  Carter's  comment: 
"Too  foine.  It's  a  troifle  rank  to  ripen  before  the  frost." 
A  wistful  shade  clouded  his  face,  extinguished  the  mer 
curial  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "It  '11  freeze,  shure."  The 
accent  on  the  last  syllable  was  pitiable,  for  it  told  of  long 
waiting,  hope  deferred,  labor  ill-requited.  It  was  the 
voice  of  one  who  bolsters  himself  that  the  stroke  of 
fate  may  not  utterly  kill,  who  slays  expectation  lest  it 
betray  him.  Yet  in  its  pessimism  dead  hope  breathed. 
"Yes,  it  '11  freeze,"  Flynn  assured  the  malicious  fates. 

At  close  range  the  house  was  not  nearly  so  picturesque. 
A  motley  of  implements  strewed  the  yard :  ploughs,  har 
rows,  rakes,  a  red-and-green  binder,  all  resting  hap-hazard 
among  a  litter  of  chips,  half-hewn  logs,  and  other  ddbris. 
The  stables  were  hidden  by  huge  manure  piles.  The 
place  lacked  every  element  of  the  order  one  sees  on  an 
Eastern  farm — rioted  in  the  necessary  disorder  of  new 
ness.  Flynn's  generation  were  too  busy  making  farms; 
tidiness  would  come  with  the  next. 

Not  realizing  this,   Helen  was  drawing  unfavorable 

3 


THE  SETTLER 

parallels  from  the  pervading  squalor,  when  Mrs.  Flynn, 
who  was  simply  Flynn  in  petticoats,  came  bustling  out 
with  welcomes.  Miss  Morrill  must  come  right  in!  It 
was  that  long  since  she,  Mrs.  Flynn,  had  set  eyes  on  a 
woman's  face  that  she  had  almost  forgotten  what  they 
looked  like! 

"An'  you  that  fond  av  your  glass,  mother?"  Flynn 
teased. 

"Glass,  ye  say?"  Mrs.  Flynn  retorted.  "Sure  an' 
'twas  yerself  that  smashed  it  three  months  ago.  It's 
the  bottom  av  a  milk-pan  he's  been  shaving  in  ever 
since,  my  dear,"  she  added. 

Flynn  winked.  "An*  let  me  advise  you,  Carter.  If 
ivir  ye  marry,  don't  have  a  glass  in  the  house  an'  ye'll 
be  able  to  see  ye'self  in  ivery  tin." 

Out  at  the  stable  the  merriment  died  from  his  face, 
and  facing  Carter  he  asked:  "Phwat's  up  between  ye 
and  Hines  ?  I  was  taking  dinner  with  Bender  yesterday, 
an'  while  we  was  eating  along  came  Hines. 

"'There's  a  man,'  he  says,  spaking  to  Bender  av  you. 
'There's  a  man!  big,  impident,  strong.  Ye 're  no  chicken, 
Bender,  but  ye  couldn't  put  that  fellow's  shoulders  to 
the  ground.'  I'm  not  needing  to  tell  you  the  effect  on 
Bender?"  Flynn  finished. 

Carter  nodded.  He  knew  the  man.  Big,  burly,  bru 
tal,  Bender  was  a  natural  product  of  the  lumber- 
camps  in  which  he  had  lived  a  life  that  was  little  more 
than  a  calender  of  "scraps."  Starting  in  at  eighteen 
on  the  Mattawa,  he  had  fought  his  way  to  the  head  of 
its  many  camps,  then  passed  to  the  Michigan  woods  and 
attained  the  kingship  there.  He  lived  rather  than  loved 
to  fight.  But,  though  in  the  northern  settlements  Carter 
was  the  only  man  who  approximated  the  lumberman's 
difficult  standard  in  courage  and  inches,  so  far  fate  had 
denied  him  cause  of  quarrel. 

22 


THE  COYOTE  SNAPS 

"The  coyote!"  Flynn  exclaimed,  when  Carter  had 
told  of  Hines's  attempt  on  Merrill's  hay-slough.  "An' 
him  sick  in  bed,  poor  man.  I  wouldn't  wipe  me  feet  on 
Hines's  dirty  rag  av  a  soul.  But  he's  made  ye  some 
mischief.  'Ye're  a  liar,  Hines!'  Bender  growls.  'I  can 
lick  him  er  any  other  man  betwixt  this  an'  the  Rockies.' 

"Hines  didn't  like  the  lie,  but  he  gulped  it.  'Talk's 
cheap,'  he  snarls. 

" 'Carter's  a  good  neighbor/  Bender  answers.  'But  if 
he  gives  me  a  cause — ' 

'"A  cause?'  Hines  cackles,  laughing.  'Why,  him  an' 
Morrill  have  grabbed  all  the  best  hay  in  Silver  Creek  an* 
defy  anny  man  to  touch  it.  Run  your  mower  into  their 
big  slough  an'  ye'll  have  cause  enough.' 

"That  made  Bender  hot.  'I'll  do  it!'  he  roars,  'this 
very  day.'  But,"  Flynn  finished,  "he  had  to  run  out  to 
the  blacksmith's  to  fix  his  mower  sickle,  so  he  won't  get 
out  till  to-morrow  morning." 

"If  ye  need  anny  help — "  he  said,  tentatively,  as  Car 
ter  pondered  with  frowning  brow.  Then,  catching  the 
other's  eye,  he  hastily  added:  "Ye'll  pardon  me!  But 
Bender's  a  terr'ble  fighter!" 

His  alarm  was  so  palpable  that  Carter  laughed. 
"Don't  bother,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  roll,  bite, 
chew,  or  gouge  with  Bender." 

"Look  here!"  Flynn  interposed,  with  additional  alarm. 
"Ye'll  not  be  after  making  anny  gun-plays?  This  is 
Canada,  ye'll  mind,  where  they  hang  folks  mighty  easy." 

Carter  laughed  again.  "There  won't  be  any  fight. 
Listen!" 

And  Flynn  did  listen.  As  he  grasped  the  other's 
meaning,  his  face  cleared  and  his  hearty  laugh  carried 
to  the  house  where  Helen  was  making  the  acquaintance 
of  the  smaller  Flynns.  Six  in  number,  bare-legged,  and 
astonishingly  regular  in  gradation,  they  scampered  like 

23 


THE  SETTLER 

mice  on  her  entrance  and  hid  behind  the  cotton  partition 
that  divided  bedroom  from  kitchen.  For  a  while  they 
were  quiet,  then  Helen  became  aware  of  a  current  of 
stealthy  talk  underflowing  Mrs.  Flynn's  volubility. 

"Ain't  her  waist  small?" 

"Bet  you  she  wears  stays  the  hull  time." 

"Like  them  mother  puts  on  to  meetin'?" 

"Shore!" 

"Git  out;  her  face  ain't  red.  Mother  nearly  busts 
when  she  hitches  her'n." 

"Ain't  that  yaller  hair  pretty?"  This  sounded  like  a 
girl,  though  it  was  hard  to  decide,  for  all  wore  a  single 
sexless  garment. 

"Bet  you  it  ain't  all  her'n.  Dad  says  as  them  city 
gals  is  all  took  to  pieces  when  they  go  to  bed."  This  was 
surely  a  boy,  and,  unfortunately  for  him,  the  remark 
sailed  out  on  a  pause  in  his  mother's  comment. 

"James!"  she  exclaimed,  raising  shocked  hands. 
"Come  right  here." 

He  came  slowly,  suspiciously,  then,  divining  from  his 
parent's  look  the  enormity  of  his  crime,  he  dived  under 
her  arm,  shot  out-doors,  and  was  lost  in  the  wheat.  After 
him,  a  cataract  of  bare  limbs,  poured  the  others,  all  es 
caping  but  one  small  girl  whom  Helen  caught,  kissed, 
and  held  thereafter  in  willing  bondage  until,  after  din 
ner,  Carter  drove  round  to  the  door. 

Though  they  had  rested  barely  an  hour  after  their 
forty-mile  run,  the  ponies  repeated  the  morning's  per 
formance,  to  the  horror  of  Mrs.  Flynn;  then,  as  though 
realizing  that  they  had  done  all  that  reputation  required, 
they  settled  down  to  a  steady  jog — in  which  respect, 
colloquially,  they  were  imitated  by  their  human  freight. 
A  little  tired,  Helen  was  content  to  sit  and  take  silent 
note  of  the  homesteads  which  now  occurred  at  regular 
intervals,  while  Carter  was  perfecting  his  plan  for  the 


THE  COYOTE  SNAPS 

discomfiture  of  the  warlike  Bender.  Slough,  lake,  wood 
land,  farm  passed  in  slow  and  silent  procession.  Once 
he  roused  to  answer  her  comment  as  they  rattled  by 
some  Indian  graves  that  crowned  a  knoll. 

"To  keep  the  coyotes  from  robbing  the  resurrection," 
he  explained  the  poplar  poles  that  roofed  in  the  graves. 

He  spoke  again  when  the  buck-board  ran  in  among  a 
score  of  curious  mud  pillars.  About  thrice  the  height 
of  a  man,  inscriptionless,  they  loomed,  weird  guardians 
of  that  lonely  land  till  he  robbed  their  mystery. 

"Them?  Mud  chimneys.  You  see,  when  a  Cree 
Indian  dies  his  folks  burn  down  the  cabin  to  keep  his 
spirit  from  returning,  and  as  mud  won't  burn  the  chim 
neys  stand.  Small-pox  cleaned  out  this  village."  Then, 
with  innocent  gravity,  he  went  on  to  tell  of  a  stray 
scientist  who  had  written  a  monograph  on  those  very 
chimneys.  '"Monoliths'  he  called  'em.  Allowed  that 
they  were  dedicated  to  a  tribal  god,  and  was  used  to 
burn  prisoners  captured  in  war.  It  was  a  beautiful 
theory  and  made  a  real  nice  article.  Why  did  I  let 
him?  Well,  now,  'twould  have  been  a  sin  to  enlighten 
him,  he  was  that  blamed  happy  poking  round  them 
chimneys,  and  the  folks  that  read  his  article  wouldn't 
know  any  better." 

Chuckling  at  the  remembrance,  he  relapsed  again  to 
his  planning,  and  did  not  speak  again  till  they  had 
crossed  the  valley  of  Silver  Creek  from  which  the  north 
ern  settlement  took  its  name.  Then,  indicating  a  black 
dot  far  off  on  the  trail,  he  said : 
I  "There  comes  Molyneux." 

"Two  in  the  rig,"  he  added,  a  few  minutes  later.  "A 
man  and  a  woman.  That  '11  be  Mrs.  Leslie." 

Unaccustomed  to  the  plainsman's  vision,  which  senses 
rather  than  sees  the  difference  of  size,  color,  movement 
that  mark  cattle  from  horses,  a  single  rig  from  a  double 

25 


THE  SETTLER 

team,  Helen  was  dubious  till,  swinging  out  from  behind 
a  poplar  bluff,  the  team  bore  down  upon  them.  Two 
persons  were  in  the  rig:  a  man  of  the  blackly  handsome 
type,  and  a  stylish,  pretty  woman,  who,  as  Carter  turned 
out  to  drive  by,  waved  him  to  stop. 

"Monopolist!"  she  scolded,  when  the  rigs  ranged  side 
by  side.  "Here  I'm  just  dying  to  meet  Miss  Morrill 
and  you  would  have  whisked  her  by.  Now  do  your 
duty." 

"Captain  Molyneux,"  she  said,  introducing  her  com 
panion  in  turn.  "A  neighbor.  We  just  heard  this 
morning  that  you  were  coming  and  I  was  so  glad;  and 
I'm  gladder  now  that  I've  seen  you."  Her  glance  trav 
elled  admiringly  over  Helen's  face  and  figure.  "You 
know  there  are  so  few  women  here,  and  they — "  Her 
pretty  nose  tip-tilted.  "Well,  you'll  see  them.  Soon  I 
shall  make  my  call;  carry  you  off  for  a  few  days,  if  your 
brother  will  permit  it.  But  there!  I'm  keeping  you 
from  him.  Good-bye.  Now  you  may  go,  Mr.  Carter." 

A  touch  of  merry  defiance  in  the  permission  caused 
Helen  to  glance  up  at  her  companion.  Though  Mrs. 
Leslie's  glance  was  almost  caressing  whenever  it  touched 
him,  he  had  stared  straight  ahead  of  him  while  she 
chatted. 

"You  don't  like  them?"  the  girl  asked.  "Why?  She 
likes  you." 

His  sternness  vanished  and  he  smiled  down  upon  her. 
"Now,  what  made  you  think  that?" 

"I  didn't  think;  I  felt  it." 

"Funny  things,  feelings,  ain't  they?  I  mind  one  that 
took  me  fishing  when  I  ought  to  have  been  keeping 
school.  'Twas  a  beautiful  day.  Indian  -  summer  back 
East.  You  know  it:  still,  silent,  broody,  warm;  first 
touch  of  gold  in  the  leafage.  I  just  felt  that  I  had  to 
go  fishing.  But  when  dad  produced  a  peeled  hickory 

26 


THE  COYOTE  SNAPS 

switch  that  night  he  told  me:  'Son,  feelings  is  treacher 
ous  things.  This  will  teach  you  the  difference  between 
thinking  and  knowing.'  It  did — for  a  while." 

"But  you  don't  like  them?"  she  persisted,  refusing  to 
be  side-tracked.  Then  she  blushed  under  his  look  of 
grave  surprise,  realizing  that  she  had  broken  one  of  the 
unwritten  canons  of  frontier  etiquette.  "I  beg  your 
pardon,"  she  said,  hastily.  "I  didn't  mean  to — " 

His  smile  wiped  out  the  offence.  Stretching  his  whip, 
he  said,  "There's  your  house." 

Helen  cried  aloud.  Nestling  under  the  eaves  of  green 
forest,  it  faced  on  a  lake  that  lay  a  scant  quarter-mile 
to  the  south.  North,  west,  and  south,  trim  clump 
poplar  dotted  its  rolling  land  and  rose  in  the  fields  of 
grain.  Here  nature,  greatest  of  landscape-gardeners, 
had  planned  her  best,  setting  a  watered  garden  within 
a  fence  of  forest.  Just  for  a  second  the  house  flashed 
out  between  two  green  bluffs,  a  neat  log  building,  lime- 
washed  in  settler  style,  then  it  was  snatched  again  from 
her  shining  eyes. 

But  Carter  had  seen  a  figure  standing  at  the  door. 
"Clear  grit!"  he  mentally  ejaculated.  "Blamed  if  he 
ain't  up  and  dressed  to  save  her  feelings."  Then,  aloud, 
he  gave  her  necessary  warnings.  "Now  you  mustn't 
expect  too  much.  He's  doing  fine,  but  no  doubt  pulled 
down  a  bit  since  you  saw  him." 

Two  hours  later  Carter  stepped  out  from  his  own 
cabin.  He  and  Morrill  had  "  homesteaded "  halves  of 
the  same  section,  and  as  he  strode  south  the  latter 's 
lamp  beamed  a  yellow  welcome  through  the  soft  night. 
Already  he  had  refused  an  invitation  to  supper,  deeming 
that  the  brother  and  sister  would  prefer  to  spend  their 
first  evening  alone  together,  and  now  ignoring  the 
lamp's  message,  he  entered  Merrill's  stable,  saddled  the 

27 


THE  SETTLER 

latter's  cattle  pony  in  darkness  thick  as  ink,  led  him  out, 
and  rode  quietly  away. 

Now  of  all  equines,  your  northern  cross-bred  pony  is 
the  most  cunning.  For  three  black  miles  Shyster  be 
haved  with  propriety,  then,  sensing  by  the  slack  line 
that  his  rider  was  preoccupied,  he  achieved  a  vicious 
sideling  buck.  Well  executed,  it  yet  failed  of  its  intent. 

"You  little  devil!"  Carter  remonstrated,  as  he  applied 
correctives  in  the  form  of  quirt  and  spurs.  "Rest  don't 
suit  your  complaint.  To-morrow  you  go  on  the  mower. ' ' 

"Hullo!"  a  voice  cried  from  the  darkness  ahead. 
"Who's  that  cussing?" 

It  was  Danvers,  an  English  remittance-man,  a  typical 
specimen  of  the  tribe  of  Ishmael  which  is  maintained  in 
colonial  exile  on  "keep-away"  allowances. 

"Are  you  lost?"  Carter  asked. 

"Lost?  No!"  There  was  an  aggrieved  note  in  Dan 
vers'  tone.  "You  fellows  seem  to  think  that  I  oughtn't 
to  be  out  after  dark.  There's  Jed  Hines  going  about 
and  telling  people  that  I  knocked  at  my  own  door  one 
night  to  inquire  my  way." 

"Tut,  tut,"  Carter  sympathized.  "And  Jed  counted 
such  a  truthful  man!  You'll  find  it  hard  to  live  that 
down.  But  where  might  you  be  heading  for  now — if 
it's  any  of  my  darn  business?" 

"Morrill's.  Heard  his  sister  had  arrived.  I'm  going 
to  drop  in  and  pay  my  respects." 

"Humph!  that's  neighborly.  They've  had  just  two 
hours  to  exchange  the  news  of  three  years;  they'll 
shorely  be  through  by  this.  Keep  right  on,  son.  In 
five-and-twenty  minutes  this  trail  will  land  you  at  Jed 
Hines's  door." 

"Oh,  get  out!"  Danvers  exclaimed. 

"Sir,  to  you?"  Carter  assumed  a  wonderful  stiffness. 
''I'll  give  you  good-night." 

28 


THE  COYOTE  SNAPS 

"Oh,  here!"  the  youth  called  after  him.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  doubt  you." 

Carter  rode  on. 

Ridden  by  a  vivid  memory  of  the  jeering  Hines, 
Danvers  became  desperate.  "Oh,  Carter!  Say,  don't 
get  mad!  Do  tell  a  fellow!  How  shall  I  get  there  ?" 

Carter  reined  in.  "  Where  ?  To  Hines 's  ?  Keep  right 
along." 

"N-o!     Merrill's?" 

"Oh,  let  me  see.  One — two — three — take  the  third 
fork  to  the  left  and  second  to  the  right;  that  ought  to 
bring  you  —  to  your  own  door,"  he  finished,  as  he 
listened  to  the  departing  hoof -beats.  "That  is,  if 
you  follow  directions,  which  ain't  likely.  Anyway,"  he 
philosophically  concluded,  "you  ain't  agoing  to  bother 
that  girl  much  to-night." 

Spurring  Shyster,  he  galloped  on,  and  in  ten  min 
utes  caught  Murchison,  an  Englishman  of  the  yeoman 
class,  out  at  his  stables.  Receiving  a  hearty  affirmative, 
rounded  out  with  full-mouthed  English  "damns,"  in 
answer  to  his  question,  he  declined  Murchison's  invita 
tion  to  "put  in,"  and  rode  on — rode  from  homestead  to 
homestead,  asking  always  the  same  question,  receiving 
always  the  same  answer.  Remittance-men,  Scotch  Ca 
nadians,  Seebach,  the  solitary  German  settler,  alike  lis 
tened,  laughed,  and  fell  in  with  the  plan  as  Flynn  had 
done.  He  covered  many  miles  and  the  moon  caught 
him  on  trail  before  he  permitted  the  last  man  to  carry 
his  cold  legs  back  to  bed.  It  was  long  past  midnight 
when  he  unsaddled  at  Merrill's  stable. 

Softly  closing  the  door  on  his  tired  beast,  he  stood 
gazing  at  the  house.  Far-off  in  the  woods  a  night-owl 
hooted,  a  bittern  boomed  on  the  lake  shore,  the  still  air 
pulsed  to  the  howl  of  a  timber-wolf.  Though  born  of 
the  plains,  its  moods  had  never  palled  upon  him.  Usual- 

29 


THE  SETTLER 

ly  he  had  been  stirred.  But  now  he  had  no  ears  for  the 
night  nor  eyes  for  the  lake  chased  in  rippled  silver. 
He  listened,  listened,  as  though  his  strained  hearing 
would  drag  the  girl's  soft  sleep  breathing  from  the 
house's  jealous  embrace.  Soon  he  leaned  back  against 
the  door  musing;  and  when,  having  inspected  the  cabin 
from  one  side,  the  moon  sailed  over  and  looked  down 
on  the  other,  he  was  still  there. 

As  the  first  quivering  flushes  shot  through  the  grays 
of  dawn  Bender  came  out  of  his  cabin.  He  intended 
to  be  at  work  on  Merrill's  big  slough  at  sunrise.  But  as 
he  rammed  home  the  sickle  into  its  place  in  the  mower- 
bar  a  projecting  rivet  caused  it  to  buckle  and  break. 
That  spelled  another  journey  to  the  blacksmith's,  and 
the  sun  stood  at  noon  before  the  sickle  was  in  place. 
Falling  to  oiling  with  savage  earnestness,  that  an  ancient 
Briton  might  have  exhibited  in  greasing  his  scythe- 
armed  war-chariot,  Bender  then  stuffed  bread  and  meat 
into  his  jumper,  hitched,  and  drove  off  north,  looking 
for  all  the  world  like  a  grisly  pirate  afloat  on  a  yellow 
sea. 

Half  an  hour's  easy  jogging  would  carry  him  to  Mor 
i-ill's  big  slough,  but  on  the  way  he  had  to  pass  two 
smaller  ones.  The  first,  which  had  a  hundred-yard  belt 
of  six-foot  hay  ringing  its  sedgy  centre,  tempted  him 
sorely,  yet  he  refrained,  having  in  mind  a  bigger  prey. 
At  the  next  he  reined  in,  and  stared  at  a  dozen  cut 
swaths  and  a  mower  with  feeding  horses  tied  to  its 
wheels. 

It  was  Molyneux's  mower,  and  to  Bender  its  presence 
could  only  mean  that  the  settlement  was  rushing  the 
sick  man's  sloughs.  "Invasion  of  the  British!"  he  yell 
ed.  "What  '11  Carter  say  to  this?  Remember  York- 
town!" 

30 


THE  COYOTE  SNAPS 

0 

He  was  still  laughing  when  a  buck-board  came  rattling 
up  the  trail  behind  him.  It  was  Hines. 

"Cut  that  slough  yet?"  he  asked. 

"Just  going  there,"  Bender  answered;  then  gave  the 
reason  of  his  delay,  garnished  with  furious  anathema  on 
the  maker  of  sickles.  "But  ain't  that  a  joke?"  he  said, 
indicating  Molyneux's  mower. 

Hines  whinnied  his  satisfaction.  "Didn't  think  it  was 
in  the  Britisher.  But  my!  won't  that  gall  the  long- 
geared  son  of  a  gun  of  a  Yank?  Drive  on  an'  I'll  follow 
up  an*  see  you  started — mebbe  see  some  of  the  fun,"  he 
added  to  himself,  "if  Carter's  there." 

Quarter  of  an  hour  brought  them  to  the  big  slough, 
which,  on  this  side,  was  ringed  so  thickly  with  willow- 
scrub  that  neither  could  see  it  till  they  reined  on  its 
edge.  Both  stared  blankly.  When  Hines  went  by  that 
morning  a  mile  of  solid  hay  had  bowed  in  sunlit  waves 
before  the  breeze.  Save  a  strip  some  twenty  yards  wide 
down  the  centre,  it  now  lay  in  flat  green  swaths,  while 
along  the  strip  a  dozen  feeding  teams  were  tied  to  as 
many  mowers. 

"A  bee,  by  G — !"  Bender  swore. 

"Hell!"  Hines  snarled  even  in  his  swearing.  " Bilked, 
by  the  Almighty!" 

For  a  moment  they  stood,  staring  from  the  slough  to 
each  other,  the  lumberman  red,  angry,  foolish,  Hines 
the  personification  of  venomous  chagrin.  Presently  his 
rage  urged  him  to  a  great  foolishness. 

"You  an'  your  casting!"  he  sneered.  "Scairt,  you 
was — plumb  scairt!" 

Astonishment,  the  astonishment  with  which  a  bull 
might  regard  the  attack  of  an  impertinent  fly,  obliter 
ated  for  one  moment  all  other  expression  from  Bender's 
face.  Then,  roaring  his  furious  anger,  he  sprang  from 
his  mower. 

31 


THE  SETTLER 

Realizing  his  mistake,  Hines  had  already  lashed  his 
ponies,  but  even  then  they  barely  jerked  the  buck-board 
tail  from  under  the  huge,  clutching  fingers.  Foaming 
with  passion,  Bender  gave  chase  for  a  score  of  yards, 
then  stopped  and  shook  his  great  fist,  pouring  out  in 
vective. 

"To-morrow,"  he  roared,  "I'll  come  over  and  cut  on 
you." 

"What's  the  matter?  You  seem  all  het  up?"  Car 
ter's  quiet  voice  gave  Bender  first  notice  of  the  buck- 
board  that  had  come  quietly  upon  him  from  the  grassy 
prairie.  With  Carter  were  Flynn,  Seebach,  and  two 
others.  Not  very  far  away  a  wagon  was  bringing  others 
back  from  dinner. 

"We're  all  giving  Morrill  a  day's  cutting,"  Carter  went 
on,  with  a  quiet  twinkle.  "I  called  at  your  place  this 
morning  with  a  bid,  but  you  was  away.  We're  right 
glad  to  see  you.  Who  told  you?" 

Gradually  a  grin  wiped  out  Bender's  choler.  "You're 
damn  smart,"  he  rumbled.  ' '  Well — where  shall  I  begin  ?" 


JENNY 

THUS  did  the  bolt  which  Hines  forged  for  Carter 
prove  a  boomerang  and  recoil  upon  himself.  For 
next  morning  Bender  started  his  mower  on  a  particular 
ly  fine  slough  which  Hines  had  left  to  the  last  because 
of  its  wetness.  Moreover,  Hines  had  ten  tons  of  cut 
hay  bleaching  near  by  in  the  sun  and  dare  not  try  to 
rake  it. 

It  was  oppressively  hot  the  morning  that  Bender 
hitched  to  rake  the  stolen  slough;  fleecy  thunder-heads 
were  slowly  heaving  up  from  behind  the  swart  spruce 
forest. 

"'Twon't  be  worth  cow-feed  if  it  ain't  raked  to-day," 
the  giant  remarked,  as  he  overlooked  his  enemy's  hay. 
Then  his  satisfaction  gave  place  to  sudden  anger  —  a 
rake  was  at  work  on  Hines 's  hay  less  than  a  quarter- 
mile  away. 

44  Hain't  seen  me,  I  reckon,"  Bender  growled.  Leav 
ing  his  own  rake,  he  crouched  in  a  gully,  skulked  along 
the  low  land,  gained  a  willow  thicket,  and  sprang  out 
just  as  the  rake  came  clicking  by. 

"Now  I've  got  you!"  he  roared.  Then  his  hands 
dropped.  He  stood  staring  at  a  thin  slip  of  a  girl,  who 
returned  his  gaze  with  dull,  tired  eyes.  It  was  Jenny 
Hines,  Jed's  only  child. 

"Well,"  Bender  growled,  "what  d'  you  reckon  you're 
doing  ?" 

33 


THE  SETTLER 

"Raking."  Her  voice  was  listless  as  her  look.  Just 
eleven  when  her  mother  died,  her  small  shoulders  had 
borne  the  weight  of  Jed's  housekeeping.  Heavy  chor- 
ing  had  robbed  her  youth,  and  left  her,  at  eighteen, 
nothing  but  a  faded  shadow  of  a  possible  prettiness. 

Bender  coughed,  shuffled.     "Where's  your  dad?" 

"Up  at  the  house.  He  allowed  you  wouldn't  tech 
me.  But,"  she  added,  dully,  "I'd  liefer  you  killed  me 
than  not." 

Bender's  anger  had  already  passed.  Rough  pity  now 
took  its  place.  His  furious  strength  prevented  him 
from  realizing  the  killing  drudgery,  the  lugging  of  heavy 
water-buckets,  the  milking,  feeding  of  pigs,  the  hard 
labor  which  had  killed  her  spirit  and  left  this  utter 
hopelessness;  but  he  knew  by  experience  that  a  young 
horse  should  not  be  put  to  a  heavy  draw,  and  here  was 
a  violation  of  the  precept.  Bender  was  puzzled.  Had 
lie  come  on  a  neighbor  maltreating  a  horse,  a  curse 
backed  by  his  heavy  fist  would  have  righted  the  wrong; 
but  this  frail  creature's  humanity  placed  her  wrongs 
outside  his  rough  remedial  practice. 

He  whistled,  swore  softly,  and,  failing  to  invoke  in 
spiration  by  these  characteristic  methods,  he  said,  kind 
ly:  "Well,  for  onct  Jed  tol'  the  truth.  Must  have  strained 
him  some.  Go  ahead,  I  ain't  agoing  to  bother  you." 

Having  finished  raking  his  own  hay,  he  fell  to  work 
with  the  fork,  stabbing  huge  bunches,  throwing  them 
right  and  left,  striving  to  work  off  the  pain  at  his  heart. 
But  pity  grew  with  exertion,  and,  pausing  midway  of 
the  morning,  he  saw  that  she  also  was  plying  a  weary 
fork. 

"You  need  a  rest,"  he  growled  five  minutes  later. 
"Sit  down." 

She  glanced  up  at  the  ominous  sky.  "Can't.  Rain's 
coining  right  on." 

34 


JENNY 

Lifting  her  bodily,  he  placed  her  in  a  nest  of  hay. 
"Now  you  stay  right  there.  I'm  running  this." 

Picking  up  her  fork,  he  put  forth  all  his  magnificent 
strength  while  she  sat  listlessly  watching.  It  seemed 
as  though  nothing  could  banish  her  chronic  weariness, 
her  ineffable  lassitude.  Once,  indeed,  she  remarked, 
"My,  but  you're  strong!"  but  voice  and  words  lacked 
animation.  She  added  the  remarkable  climax,  "Pa  says 
you  are  a  devil." 

"Yes?"  he  questioned.  "An*  you  bet  he's  right,  gal. 
Keep  a  right  smart  distance  from  men  like  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  slowly  answered.  "I'd  liefer 
be  a  devil.  Angels  is  tiresome.  Pa's  always  talking 
about  them.  He's  a  heap  religious — in  spells." 

Pausing  in  his  forking,  Bender  stared  down  on  the 
small  heretic.  Vestigial  traces  of  religious  belief  occu 
pied  a  lower  strata  of  his  savage  soul.  Crude  they 
were,  anthropomorphic,  barely  higher  than  superstitions, 
yet  they  were  there,  and  chief  among  them  was  an  idea 
that  has  appealed  to  the  most  cultured  of  men — that 
woman  is  incomplete,  nay,  lost,  without  religion. 

"Shore,  child!"  he  protested.  "Little  gals  shouldn't 
talk  so.  That  ain't  the  way  to  get  to  heaven." 

"D'  you  allow  to  go  there?"  she  demanded,  with  dis 
concerting  suddenness. 

Bender  grimaced,  laughed  at  the  ludicrousness  of  the 
question.  "Don't  allow  as  I'd  be  comfortable.  Any 
way,  lumbermen  go  to  t'other  place.  But  that  don't 
alter  your  case.  Gals  all  go  to  heaven." 

"Well!"  For  the  first  time  she  displayed  some  ani 
mation.  "I  ain't!  Pa's  talked  me  sick  of  it.  I  allow 
it's  them  golden  streets  he's  after.  He'd  coin  'em  into 
dollars." 

Seeing  that  Hines  had  not  hesitated  in  minting  this, 
his  flesh  and  blood,  Bender  thought  it  very  likely,  and 

35 


THE  SETTLER 

feeling  his  inability  to  cope  with  such  reasonable  heresies, 
he  attacked  the  hay  instead.  Having  small  skill  in 
women — the  few  of  his  intimate  experience  being  as  free 
of  feminine  complexities  as  they  were  of  virtue — he  was 
sorely  puzzled.  Looking  backward,  he  remembered  his 
own  pious  mother.  Hines's  wife  had  died  whispering  of 
religion's  consolations;  yet  here  was  the  daughter  turn 
ing  a  determined  back  on  the  source  of  the  mother's 
comfort..  It  was  unnatural  to  his  scheme  of  things, 
contrary  to  the  law  of  his  vestigial  piety.  He  would 
try  again!  But  when,  the  hay  finished,  he  came  back 
to  her,  he  quailed  before  her  pale  hopelessness;  it  called 
God  in  question. 

Limbering  up  her  rake,  he  watched  her  drive  away,  a 
small,  thin  figure,  woful  speck  of  life  under  a  vast  gray 
sky.  For  twisting  cloud  masses  had  blotted  out  the 
sun,  a  chill  wind  snatched  the  tops  from  the  hay-cocks 
as  fast  as  Bender  coiled  them,  blots  of  water  splashed 
the  dust  before  he  finished  his  task. 

Black  care  rode  home  with  him;  and  as  that  night 
the  thunder  split  over  his  cabin,  he  saw  Jenny's  eyes 
mirrored  on  the  wet,  black  pane,  and  it  was  borne  dimly 
upon  him  that  something  besides  overwork  was  respon 
sible  for  their  haunting. 

Bender  had  a  friend,  a  man  of  his  own  ilk,  with  whom 
he  had  hit  camp  and  log-drive  for  these  last  ten  years. 
At  birth  it  is  supposable  that  the  friend  inherited  a 
name,  but  in  the  camps  he  was  known  only  as  the 
"Cougar."  A  silent  man,  broad,  deep-lunged,  fierce- 
eyed,  nature  had  laid  his  lines  for  great  height,  then 
bent  him  in  a  perpetual  crouch.  He  always  seemed 
gathering  for  a  spring,  which,  combined  with  tigerish 
courage,  had  gained  him  his  name.  Inseparable,  if 
Bender  appeared  on  the  Mattawa  for  the  spring  drive, 

36 


JENNY 

it  was  known  that  the  Cougar  might  be  shortly  expect 
ed.  If  the  Cougar  stole  into  a  Rocky  Mountain  camp, 
a  bunk  was  immediately  reserved  for  his  big  affinity. 
Only  a  bottle  of  whiskey  and  two  days'  delay  on  the 
Cougar's  part  had  prevented  them  from  settling  up  the 
same  section.  However,  though  five  miles  lay  between 
their  respective  homesteads,  never  a  Sunday  passed 
without  one  man  riding  over  to  see  the  other,  and  it 
was  returning  from  such  a  visit  that  Bender  next  fell 
in  with  Jenny  Hines. 

It  was  night  and  late,  but  as  Bender  rode  by  the 
forks  where  Hines's  private  road  joined  on  to  the  Lone 
Tree  trail,  a  new  moon  gave  sufficient  light  for  him  to 
see  a  whitish  object  lying  in  the  grass.  He  judged  it  a 
grain-sack  till  a  convulsion  shook  it  and  a  sob  rose  to 
his  ears. 

"Good  land,  girl!"  he  ejaculated,  when,  a  moment 
later,  Jenny's  pale  face  turned  up  to  his,  "what  are  you 
doing  here?" 

"He's  turned  me  out." 

"Who?" 

"Jed."  The  absence  of  the  parental  title  spoke  vol 
umes — of  love  killed  by  slow  starvation,  cold  sternness; 
of  youth  enslaved  to  authority  without  mitigation  of 
fatherly  tenderness. 

Without  understanding,  Bender  felt.  "What  for?" 
he  demanded. 

Crowding  against  his  stirrup,  she  remained  silent,  and 
the  touch  of  her  body  against  his  leg,  the  mute  appeal 
of  the  contact,  sent  a  flame  of  righteous  passion  through 
Bender's  big  body.  Indecision  had  never  been  among 
his  faults.  Stooping,  he  raised  her  to  the  saddle  before 
him,  and  as  she  settled  in  against  his  broad  breast  a 
wave  of  tenderness  flowed  after  the  flame. 

"No,  no!"  she  begged,  when  he  turned  in  on  Jed's 
4  37 


THE  SETTLER 

trail.  "I  won't  go  back!"  And  he  felt  her  violently 
trembling  as  he  soothed  and  coaxed.  She  tried  to  slip 
from  his  arms  as  they  approached  the  cabin,  and  her 
terror  filled  him  with  such  anger  that  his  kick  almost 
stove  in  the  door. 

"It's  me!"  he  roared,  answering  Hines's  challenge. 
"Bender!  I  came  on  your  gal  lying  out  on  the  prairies. 
Open  an'  take  her  in!" 

In  response  the'  window  raised  an  inch;  the  moon 
light  glinted  on  a  rifle-barrel.  "Kick  the  door  ag'in!" 
Jed's  voice  snarled,  "an'  I'll  bore  you.  Gitl  the  pair 
of  ye!" 

"Come,  come,  Jed."  For  her  sake  Bender  mastered 
his  anger.  "Come,  this  ain't  right.  Let  her  in  anf 
we'll  call  it  by-gones." 

"No,  no!"  the  girl  protested. 

Though  she  had  whispered,  Jed  heard,  and  her  pro 
test  touched  off  his  furious  wolfish  passion.  "Git! 
Won't  you  git!"  he  screeched,  following  the  command 
with  a  stream  of  screamed  imprecations,  vile  abuse. 

If  alone  Bender  would  have  beaten  in  the  door,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  Hines's  deadly  intent.  Warned 
by  the  click  of  a  cocking  hammer,  he  swung  Jenny  in 
front  again,  galloped  out  of  range;  then,  uncertain 
what  to  do,  he  gave  his  beast  its  head,  and  half  an  hour 
later  brought  up  at  his  own  door. 

"There,  sis,"  he  said,  as  he  lit  his  lamp,  "make  your 
self  happy  while  I  stable  Billy.  Then  I'll  cook  up  some 
grub,  an'  while  we're  eating  we  can  talk  over  things." 

She  smiled  wanly  yet  gratefully.  But  when  he  re 
turned  she  was  rocking  back  and  forth  and  moaning. 

"Don't  take  on  so,"  he  comforted.  "To-night  I'll 
sleep  in  the  stable;  at  daybreak  we'll  hit  south  for 
Mother  Flynn's."  But  the  moans  followed  in  quick 
succession,  beaded  sweat  started  on  her  brow,  and  as 

38 


JENNY 

she  swung  forward  he  saw  that  which,  two  hours  before, 
had  turned  Jed  Hines  into  a  foaming  beast. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  The  exclamation  burst  from  him. 
"You  pore  little  thing!  you  pore  little  child!  Only  a 
baby  yourself!" 

Stooping,  he  lifted  her  into  his  bed,  tucked  her  in, 
then  stood,  doubtful,  troubled,  looking  down  upon  her. 
Two-thirds  of  the  settlers  in  Silver  Creek  were  of  Scotch 
descent;  were  deeply  dyed  with  the  granite  hardness, 
harsh  malignancy,  fervid  bigotry  which  have  caused  the 
history  of  their  race  to  be  written  in  characters  of  blood. 
Fiercely  moral,  dogmatically  religious,  she  could  expect 
no  mercy  at  their  hands.  Hard-featured  women,  whose 
angular  unloveliness  had  efficiently  safeguarded  their 
own  virtue,  would  hate  her  the  more  because  her  fault 
had  been  beyond  their  compass.  Looking  forward, 
Bender  saw  the  poor  little  body  a  passive  centre  for  a 
whorl  of  spite,  jealousy,  virulent  spleen,  and  the  rough 
heart  of  him  was  mightily  troubled.  In  a  1  Silver  Creek, 
Mrs.  Flynn  was  the  only  woman  to  whom  he  felt  he 
might  safely  turn.  But  Flynn's  farm  lay  eighteen  miles 
to  the  south — too  far;  the  child  was  in  imminent  labor. 
What  should  he  do? 

" Jenny,"  he  said,  "any  women  folk  been  to  your 
house  lately?" 

When  she  answered  that  they  had  been  without  a 
visitor  for  three  months,  Bender  nodded  his  satisfaction. 
"Lie  still,  child,"  he  said.  "I'll  be  back  right  smart." 

He  was  not  gone  long — just  long  enough  to  drive  over 
to  and  back  from  Carter's.  "I'm  not  trusting  any  of 
the  women  hereabouts,"  he  told  Carter.  "Though  it 
ain't  generally  known,  the  Cougar  was  married  once. 
The  same  Indians  that  did  up  Custer  cleaned  up  his 
wife  and  family.  An*  as  he  always  lived  a  thousand 
miles  from  a  doctor,  he  knows  all  about  sech  things. 

39 


THE  SETTLER 

So  if  you'll  drive  like  all  hell  for  him,  I'll  tend  to  the 
little  gal." 

And  Carter  drove.  In  one  hour  he  brought  the 
Cougar,  but  even  in  that  short  time  a  wonderful  trans 
formation  was  wrought  in  that  rough  cabin  under  Ben 
der's  sympathetic  eyes.  From  the  travail  of  the  suffer 
ing  girl  was  born  a  woman — but  not  a  mother.  For  of 
the  essence  of  life  Jenny  had  not  sufficient  to  endow  the 
child  of  her  labor.  The  spark  flickered  down  in  herself, 
sank,  till  the  Cougar,  roughest  yet  gentlest  of  nurses, 
sweated  with  apprehension. 

"It's  death  or  a  doctor,"  he  told  Carter,  hiding  his 
emotion  under  a  surly  growl.  "Now  show  what  them 
ponies  are  good  for." 

And  that  night  those  small  fiends  did  "show  what 
they  were  good  for"; — -made  a  record  that  stood  for 
many  a  year.  Roused  from  his  beauty-sleep,  Flynn 
caught  the  whir  of  hot  wheels  and  wondered  who  was 
sick.  It  was  yet  black  night  when  Carter  called  Father 
Francis,  the  silent  mission  priest,  from  his  bed.  By 
lantern-light  they  two,  layman  and  priest,  spelled  each 
other  with  pick  and  shovel  in  the  mission  acre,  and  when 
the  last  spadeful  dropped  on  the  small  grave,  Carter 
flew  on.  At  cock-crow  he  pulled  into  Lone  Tree,  sixty 
miles  in  six  hours,  without  counting  the  stop  at  the 
mission. 

"I  doubt  I've  killed  you,"  he  murmured,  as  the  ponies 
stood  before  the  doctor's  door,  "but  it  just  had  to  be 
done." 

The  doctor  himself  answered  the  knock.  A  heavy 
man,  grizzled,  gray-eyed,  sun  and  wind  had  burned  his 
face  to  leather,  for  his  days  and  nights  were  spent  on 
trail,  pursuing  a  practice  that  was  only  limited  by  the 
endurance  of  horse-flesh.  From  the  ranges  incurably 
vicious  broncos  were  sent  to  his  stables,  devils  in  brute 

49 


JENNY 

form.  He  used  seven  teams;  yet  the  toughest  wore 
out  in  a  year.  Day  or  night,  winter  or  summer,  a  hun 
dred  in  the  shade  or  sixty  below,  he  might  be  seen 
pounding  them  along  the  trails.  Even  now  he  had  just 
come  in  from  the  Pipe  Stone,  sixty  miles  southwest,  but 
he  instantly  routed  out  his  man. 

"Hitch  the  buckskins,  Bill,"  he  said,  "and  let  him 
run  yours  round  to  the  stables,  Carter.  He'll  turn  'em 
out  prancing  by  the  time  we're  back." 

It  took  Bill,  the  doctor,  and  Carter  to  get  the  buck 
skins  clear  of  town,  but  once  out  the  doctor  handed  the 
lines  to  Carter.  "Now  let  'em  run."  Then  he  fell 
asleep. 

He  woke  as  they  passed  the  mission,  exchanged  words 
with  the  priest,  and  dozed  again  till  Carter  reined  in  at 
Bender's  door.  Then,  shedding  sleep  as  a  dog  shakes 
off  water,  he  entered,  clear-eyed,  into  the  battle  with 
death. 

It  was  night  when  he  came  out  to  Bender  and  Carter, 
sprawled  on  the  hay  in  the  stable. 

"She'll  live,"  he  answered  the  lumberman's  look, 
"but  she  must  have  woman's  nursing.  Who's  to  be? 
Mrs.  Flynn  ?"  He  shook  his  head.  * '  A  good  woman,  but 
— she  has  her  sex's  weakness — damned  long-tongued." 

Bender  looked  troubled.  "There  ain't  a  soul  knows 
it— yet." 

The  doctor  nodded.  "Yes,  yes,  but  I  doubt  whether 
you  can  keep  it,  boys." 

"I  think,"  Carter  said,  slowly,  "that  if  it  was  rightly 
put  Miss  Morrill  might — " 

"That  sweet-faced  girl?"  The  doctor's  gray  eyes  lit 
with  approval,  and  the  cloud  swept  back  from  Bender's 
rugged  face. 

"If  she  only  would!"  the  giant  stammered,  "I'd — " 
He  cast  about  for  a  fitting  recompense,  and  finding  none 


THE  SETTLER 

worth,  finished,  "There  ain't  a  damn  thing  I  wouldn't 
do  for  her." 

The  doctor  took  doubt  by  the  ears.  "Well,  hitch 
and  let's  see." 

Realizing  that  the  girl  would  probably  have  her  fair 
share  of  the  prejudice,  he  opened  his  case  very  gently 
an  hour  later.  But  he  might  have  saved  his  diplomacy. 

"Of  course!"  she  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  she  grasped 
the  facts.  "Poor  little  thing!  I'll  go  right  over  with 
Mr.  Bender. 

"And  remember,"  the  doctor  said,  finishing  his  in 
structions,  "she  needs  mothering  more  than  medicine." 

So,  satisfied,  he  and  Carter  hit  the  back  trail,  but  not 
till  he  had  examined  Morrill  with  stethoscope  and  tap 
ping  finger.  "Must  have  some  excuse  for  my  trip,"  he 
said,  "and  you'll  have  to  serve.  So  don't  be  scared  if 
you  happen  to  hear  that  you  have  had  another  hemor 
rhage.  Good!  Good!"  he  exclaimed  at  every  tap,  but 
once  on  trail  he  shook  his  head.  "May  go  in  a  month; 
can't  last  six.  Be  prepared." 

A  fiery  sunset  was  staining  the  western  sky  when,  on 
his  way  back  from  Lone  Tree,  Carter  stopped  at  Ben 
der's  door.  The  glow  tinged  the  furious  cloud  that  rose 
from  the  Cougar's  pipe. 

"Doing  well,"  he  laconically  answered.  "Never  saw 
a  gal  pull  round  better  from  a  fainting  spell." 

Nodding  comprehension,  Carter  mentioned  a  doubt 
that  had  nettled  him  on  the  trail.  "Jed?  Do  you 
think  he'll—" 

Sudden  ferocity  flamed  up  in  the  Cougar's  face.  "I 
.tended  to  him  this  morning,"  he  said,  slowly,  ominous 
ly.  "He's  persuaded  as  he  mistook  the  girl's  symptoms. 
Anyway,  he  ain't  agoing  to  foul  his  own  nest  so  long  as 
no  one  knows." 

"Wants  her  back,  I  suppose?" 

42 


JENNY 

The  Cougar  nodded.  "She's  worth  more  to  him  than 
his  best  ox -team.  But  he  ain't  agoing  to  get  her. 
Don't  go!  Miss  Merrill's  inside  an'  wants  to  run  over 
home  for  some  things.  Fine  gal  that."  The  Cougar's 
set  fierceness  of  face  almost  thawed  as  he  delivered  his 
opinion. 

Driving  homeward,  Helen  opened  the  subject  just 
where  the  Cougar  had  left  it.  "She  won't  go  back  to 
her  father,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't  blame  her.  But  she 
can't  stay  here." 

However,  Jenny's  future  was  already  provided. 
"You  needn't  to  worry,"  Carter  said.  "The  doctor's 
fixed  things.  He  and  his  wife  have  neither  chick  nor 
child  of  their  own;  they'll  take  her  in." 

The  girl  exclaimed  her  surprised  gladness.  To  her, 
indeed,  the  entire  incident  was  a  revelation.  Here  three 
rough  frontiersmen  had  banded  successfully  together  to 
protect  a  wronged  child  and  keep  her  within  their  rough 
social  pale.  Through  all  they  had  exhibited  a  tact  and 
delicacy  not  always  found  in  finer  social  stratas,  and 
the  lesson  went  far  in  modifying  certain  caste  ideas — 
would  have  gone  farther  could  she  have  known  the  ful 
ness  of  their  delicacy. 

Only  once  was  the  cause  of  Jenny's  illness  ever  hinted 
at  among  the  three;  that  when  Carter  and  Bender  lay 
waiting  for  the  doctor  in  the  stable. 

"You  don't  happen  to  have  made  a  guess  at  the 
man?"  Carter  had  asked. 

"She  hain't  mentioned  him,"  the  giant  answered,  a 
little  stiffly. 

But  he  thawed  when  Carter  answered:  "You'll  par 
don  me.  I  was  just  wondering  if  a  rope  might  help  her 


Bender  had  shaken  his  head.     "Las'  year,  you'll  re 
member,  one  of  Molyneux's  remittance-men  uster  drive 

43 


THE  SETTLER 

her  out  while  Jed  had  her  hired  out  to  Leslie's.  But 
he's  gone  back  to  England." 

Also  Helen  had  learned  to  look  beneath  Bender's 
scarred  surface.  Every  day,  while  Jenny  lay  in  his 
shanty,  he  would  slip  in  between  loads  of  hay  to  see 
her.  At  first  the  presence  of  so  much  femininity  embar 
rassed  him.  One  petticoat  hang  ng  on  the  wall  while 
another  floats  over  the  floor  is  enough  to  upset  any 
bachelor.  Only  when  sitting  with  Jenny  did  he  find 
his  tongue;  then,  giant  of  the  camps,  he  prattled  like  a 
school-boy,  freeing  thoughts  and  feelings  that  had  been 
imprisoned  through  all  his  savage  years.  It  was  singu 
larly  strange,  too,  to  see  how  Jenny  reciprocated  his 
feelings.  She  liked  Helen,  but  all  of  her  petting  could 
not  bring  the  smile  that  came  for  Bender,  in  whom  she 
sensed  a  kindred  shy  simplicity. 

Helen  was  to  get  yet  one  other  light  from  these  un 
promising  surfaces,  a  light  bright  as  those  of  Scripture 
which  are  said  to  shine  as  lamps  to  the  feet.  A  few 
days  after  Jenny's  departure  Bender  rode  up  to  the 
door  where  Carter  sat  talking  with  Morrill. 

"Got  any  stock  to  sell?"  he  inquired.  "Cows  in 
calf?" 

"Going  in  for  butter-making?"  Carter  inquired,  grin 
ning. 

"Nope!"  The  giant  laughed.  " 'Tain't  for  myself 
I'm  asking.  I'm  a  lumberman  born  an'  bred;  the 
camps  draw  me  like  salt-licks  pull  the  deer.  I'd  never 
have  time  to  look  after  them.  Farming's  play  with  me. 
On'y  I  was  thinking  as  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  that  little 
gal  had  a  head  or  two  of  her  own  growing  inter  money. 
You  kin  let  'em  run  with  your  band  summers,  an'  I'll 
put  up  winter  hay  for  them  an'  the  increase.  How  are 
you,  miss?"  He  nodded  as  Helen  came  to  the  door. 

It  was  her  first  experience  in  such  free  giving,  and  she 

44 


JENNY 

was  astonished  to  see  how  devoid  his  manner  was  of 
philanthropic  consciousness.  Plainly  he  regarded  the 
whole  affair  as  very  ordinary  business.  Carter's  answer 
accentuated  the  novel  impression — "What's  the  matter 
with  me  contributing  them  heifers?" 

"Da — beg  pardon,  miss."  Bender  blushed.  "No  you 
don't.  This  is  my  funeral.  But  I'm  no  hawg.  Now  if 
you  wanter  throw  in  a  couple  of  calves — " 

Thus,  without  deed,  oath,  or  mortgage,  but  with  a 
certainty  that  none  of  these  forms  could  afford,  did  little 
Jenny  Hines  become  a  young  lady  of  property.  The 
matter  disposed  of,  Bender  called  Carter  off  to  the 
stable,  where,  after  many  mysterious  fumblings,  he  pro 
duced  from  a  package  a  gorgeous  silk  kerchief  of  rain 
bow  hues. 

"You'll  give  Miss  Morrill  this?" 

But  Carter  balked,  grinning.  "Lordy,  man;  do  your 
own  courting." 

"Say!"  the  giant  ejaculated,  shocked.  "You  don't 
reckon  she'd  take  it  that  way?" 

Carter  judiciously  considered  the  question,  and  after 
mature  deliberation  replied:  "I've  seen  breach-of -prom 
ise  suits  swing  on  less.  But  I  reckon  you're  safe  enough 
— if  you  explain  your  motive." 

The  giant  sighed  his  relief.  "Did  you  ever  give  a  gal 
anything,  Carter?" 

"Did  I?     Enough  to  stock  a  farm  if  'twas  collected." 

"How'd  you  go  about  it?" 

"Why,  jes'  give  it  to  her.  You're  bigger'n  she  is; 
kain't  hurt  you." 

"Oh,  Lordy,  I  don't  know."  Bender  sighed  again. 
"It's  surprising  what  them  small  things  kin  do  to  you. 
Say,  there's  a  good  feller.  You  take  it  in?" 

But  Carter  sternly  refused,  and  five  minutes  later 
Bender  might  have  been  seen,  stern  and  rigid  from  the 

45 


THE  SETTLER 

desperate  nature  of  his  enterprise,  sitting  on  one  of 
Helen's  soap-boxes.  In  the  hour  he  talked  with  Morrill, 
he  never  once  relaxed  a  death-grip  on  his  hat.  His  eye 
never  once  strayed  towards  Helen,  and  it  was  late  that 
evening  when  she  found  the  kerchief  under  his  box. 

It  speaks  well  for  her  that  she  did  not  laugh  at  its 
gorgeous  colors;  and  her  smile  as  she  scribbled  a  little 
note  of  thanks  that  was  delivered  by  Carter  was  far  too 
tender  for  ridicule.  Truly  she  was  learning. 


VI 

THE     SHADOW 

DOWN  a  half-mile  furrow  that  gleamed  wetly  black 
against  the  dull  brown  of  "broken"  prairie,  Carter 
followed  his  oxen.  He  was  ' ' back-setting,"  deep-plough 
ing  the  sod  that  had  lain  rotting  through  the  summer. 
For  October,  it  was  hot;  an  acrid  odor,  ammoniacal 
from  his  sweating  beasts,  mingled  with  the  tang  of  the 
soil  and  the  strong  hay  scent  of  scorching  prairies. 
Summer  was  making  a  desperate  spurt  from  winter's 
chill  advance,  and,  as  though  realizing  it,  bird,  beast, 
insects,  as  well  as  men,  went  busily  about  their  business. 
The  warm  air  was  freighted  with  the  boom  of  bees, 
vibrated  to  the  whir  of  darting  prairie-chicken,  the 
yells  of  distant  ploughmen;  for,  stimulated  by  an  an 
swer  from  the  railroad  gods,  the  settlers  were  striving 
to  add  to  their  wheat  acreage. 

"In  certain  contingencies,"  the  general  manager  an 
swered  the  petition,  "we  will  build  through  Silver  Creek 
next  summer." 

Judging  by  a  remark  dropped  to  his  third  assistant, 
"uncertain"  would  have  expressed  his  meaning  more 
correctly.  "A  little  hope  won't  hurt  them,  and  ought 
to  go  a  long  way  in  settling  up  the  country.  By-the- 
way,  who  signed  these  statistics?  Cummings?  That 
wasn't  the  tall  Yankee  who  spoke  so  well.  He  never 
would  have  sent  in  such  a  jumble." 

Blissfully  ignorant,  however,  of  railroad  methods,  the 

47 


THE  SETTLER 

settlers  interpreted  the  guarded  answer  as  an  iron 
promise.  Forgetting  Carter's  part  in  getting  them  a 
hearing,  Cummings  and  his  fellows  plumed  themselves 
upon  their  diplomacy,  took  to  themselves  the  credit — 
in  which  they  evidenced  the  secret  malevolence  that  a 
rural  community  holds  against  the  man  who  rises  above 
its  intellectual  level.  Human  imperfection  is  invariable 
through  the  ages.  Plebeian  Athens  ostracised  the  just 
Aristides.  Similarly,  Silver  Creek  evidenced  its  petty 
jealousy  against  its  best  brains.  "Oh,  he's  too  damned 
smart  I"  it  exclaimed,  whenever  Carter  was  mentioned 
for  the  council,  school  trustee,  or  other  public  office,  nor 
paused  to  consider  its  logic. 

Slowly,  with  heavy  gaspings,  the  oxen  stopped  at  the 
end  of  the  furrow,  and  as  he  sat  down  on  the  plough  while 
they  rested,  Carter  blessed  the  happy  chance  that  had 
caused  him  to  "break"  clear  down  to  Merrill's  boundary. 
Helen  sat  in  the  shade  of  her  cabin,  thus  affording  him 
delicious  glimpses  of  a  scarlet  mouth,  slightly  pursed 
over  her  sewing,  a  loose  curl  that  glowed  like  a  golden 
bar  amid  the  creamy  shadows  of  her  neck,  the  palpitant 
life  of  the  feminine  figure.  Small  wonder  that  he  linger 
ed  on  that  turn. 

"It's  that  warm,"  he  hypocritically  remarked,  fanning 
himself,  "those  poor  critters'  tongues  are  hanging  to 
their  knees." 

The  girl  bowed  to  hide  her  smile.  "They  always  seem 
to  tire  at  this  end  of  the  field." 

"Discerning  brutes,"  he  answered,  nowise  nonplussed. 

She  broke  a  silence.  "It  is  considered  bad  manners 
to  stare." 

"Yes?"  he  cheerfully  inquired.  "I'll  make  a  note  of 
that." 

A  few  moments  later  she  remarked,  "You  have  a 
poor  memory." 

48 


THE  SHADOW 

"Thank  you  for  telling.     In  what  way?" 

"You  were  staring." 

"N-o." 

"You  were." 

"Beg  your  pardon.  It  takes  two  to  make  a  stare. 
If  I  keep  on  looking  you  in  the  eye — that's  staring.  If 
I'm  looking  when  you  ain't  supposed  to  know  it — that's 
—that's—" 

"Well?"  she  prompted. 

"Mighty  pleasant,"  he  finished,  rising. 

As  he  moved  off  she  looked  curiously  after.  While 
he  was  talking,  some  fleeting  expression,  trick  of  speech 
had  recalled  him  as  she  first  saw  him  at  Lone  Tree — a 
young  man,  tall,  sunburned,  soft  of  speech,  ungrammatical, 
and  the  picture  had  awakened  her  to  a  change  in  herself. 
In  this  her  fourth  month  in  the  settlement  she  felt  she 
had  lost  the  keen  freshness  of  the  stranger's  point  of 
view.  She  now  scarcely  noticed  his  idiom,  accent,  gram 
matical  lapses.  Oddities  of  speech  and  manner  that  at 
first  would  have  provoked  surprise  or  laughter  no  longer 
challenged  her  attention.  If  the  land's  vast  rawness  still 
impressed,  she  was  losing  the  clarity  of  first  perceptions. 

She  was  being  absorbed;  her  individuality  was  slowly 
undergoing  the  inevitable  process  of  addition  and  can 
cellation.  How  dim,  indefinite  the  past  already  seemed. 
Some  other  girl  might  have  lived  it,  gone  through  the 
round  of  parties,  balls,  associated  with  the  well-groomed 
men,  refined  girls  of  her  acquaintance.  How  vivid,  con 
crete  was  the  present!  She  contemplated  her  hands, 
roughened  by  dish- washing.  Did  it  foretell  her  future  ? 
Would  this  equilibration  with  environment  end  by  leav 
ing  her  peer  of  the  gaunt,  labor-stricken  women  of  the 
settlements?  She  shuddered.  The  thought  stamped 
her  mood  so  that,  returning  on  the  other  round,  Carter 
passed  on,  thinking  her  offended. 

49 


THE  SETTLER 

"  Why  so  grave,  sis  ?"  Her  brother  smiled  down  upon 
her  from  the  doorway.  Since  her  arrival  he  had  had 
many  tips  and  downs,  alternating  between  bed-fast  and 
apparent  convalescence.  To-day  the  fires  of  life  would 
flare  high,  to  flicker  down  to-morrow  like  a  guttering 
candle  that  wastes  the  quicker  to  its  end.  Not  for  the 
world  would  she  increase  his  anxiety  with  her  forebod 
ing.  Hiding  the  dejection  with  a  quick  smile,  she  turned 
his  question  with  another. 

"Bert,  why  does  Mr.  Carter  dislike  Captain  Molyneux, 
the  Leslies,  and — " 

"The  English  crowd  in  general?"  he  finished  for  her. 
"Does  he  ?  I  never  heard  him  say  much  against  them." 

"No,  he's  one  of  your  silent  men.  But  actions  count 
more  than  words.  When  he  drives  me  to  or  from  Les 
lies'  he  invariably  refuses  the  invitation  to  come  in, 
pleading  hurry." 

"Well,  he  has  been  pretty  busy." 

Morrill  stated  a  fact.  Carter  had  spent  the  haying 
months  in  the  forest  sloughs,  where  they  cut  the  bulk 
of  their  fodder.  There,  with  the  deep  woods  smothering 
every  errant  breeze,  mercury  at  a  hundred,  the  fat 
marsh  sweating  underfoot,  he  had  moved,  raked,  or 
pitched  while  sand-flies  took  toll  of  his  flesh  by  day  and 
mosquitoes  converted  his  homeward  journey  into  a  feast 
of  blood.  Eighty  head  of  cattle,  his  and  Morrill 's,  had 
to  be  provided  for,  and  he  alone  to  do  it.  And  it  was 
from  these  heavy  labors  that  he  had  stolen  time  to  drive 
Helen  back  and  forth. 

"But  he  repels  their  every  attempt  at  friendliness!" 
she  protested.  "Positively  snubbed  Captain  Molyneux 
the  other  day." 

Morrill  laughed.  "Why  do  they  persist  in  their  over 
tures?  Carter  is  flesh  and  blood  of  the  frontier,  which 
makes  no  bones  over  its  likes  and  dislikes.  With  him  a 

5° 


THE  SHADOW 

friend  is  a  friend.  He  has  no  use  for  civilization  which 
calls  upon  its  votaries  to  spread  their  friendship  in  a 
thin  veneer  over  a  vast  acquaintance.  Having,  courte 
ously  enough,  intimated  that  he  doesn't  desire  closer 
acquaintance,  he  expects  them  to  heed  the  hint.  Fail 
ing,  they  may  expect  to  have  it  stated  in  stronger  terms. 
Molyneux  has  lived  long  enough  in  the  north  to  know 
that."  His  answer,  however,  simply  completed  the  cir 
cle  and  brought  them  back  to  the  starting-point. 

She  restated  the  issue.  "But  why  doesn't  he  like 
them?" 

Morrill  answered  her  question  with  another.  "Why 
do  you  like  them?" 

"They  are  nice." 

"Mrs.  Leslie?"  he  catechised. 

"A  trifle  frivolous,  perhaps,  but — I  like  her." 

"Leslie,  Danvers,  Poole,  and  the  rest  of  them?" 

"Impractical, "she  admitted,  "thoroughly  impractical, 
all  but  Captain  Molyneux.  His  farm  is  a  model.  Yet — 
I  like  them." 

She  spoke  musingly,  as  though  examining  her  feelings 
for  cause,  analysis  of  which  would  have  shown  that  the 
wide  differences  between  herself  and  her  new  acquaint 
ances  had  added  to  the  glamour  and  sparkle  which  are 
given  off  by  fresh  personalities.  She  liked  their  refine 
ment,  courtesy,  subtleties,  and  grace  of  conduct  which 
shone  the  brighter  in  that  rough  setting.  To  her  their 
very  speech  was  charming,  with  its  broad  vowels,  lei 
surely  drawled,  so  much  softer  than  the  clipped  Ameri 
can  idiom. 

They  were,  indeed,  over-refined.  Five  centuries  ago 
the  welding  of  Celt,  Saxon,  Roman,  Norman  into  one 
homogeneous  whole  was  full  and  complete;  since  then 
that  potent  mixture  of  blood  had  undergone  slow  stag 
nation.  Noble  privilege  and  laws  of  entail  had  checked 


THE  SETTLER 

in  the  motherland  those  selective  processes  which  sweep 
the  foolish,  wicked,  and  vicious  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Protected  by  the  aristocratic  system,  the  fool, 
the  idler,  the  roue'  had  handed  their  undesirableness 
down  the  generations,  a  heavy  mortgage  on  posterity. 
Ripe  fruit  of  a  vicious  system,  decay  had  touched  them 
at  the  core;  last  links  of  a  chain  once  strong,  they  had 
lacked  the  hot  hammering  from  grim  circumstance  that 
alone  could  make  them  fit  to  hold  and  bind. 

Morrill  laid  his  thin  finger  on  the  spot.  "All  right, 
Nell,  they  are  harmless."  He  laughed  as  he  used  the 
scornful  term  which  the  Canadian  settlers  applied  to 
their  English  neighbors.  "You  must  have  some  com 
pany.  I  don't  dislike  them  myself,  and  would  prob 
ably  like  them  better  if  it  was  not  for  their  insufferable 
national  conceit  and  blind  caste  feeling.  They  look 
with  huge  contempt  on  all  persons  and  things  which 
cannot  claim  origin  in  the  narrow  bit  of  English  society 
from  which  they  sprang.  I'm  not  denying  their  coun 
try's  greatness.  But,  like  the  Buddhist,  lost  in  con 
templation  of  his  own  navel,  they  have  turned  their 
eyes  inward  till  they're  blind  to  all  else.  On  we  Ameri 
cans  they  are  particularly  hard,  regarding  us  with  the 
easy  tolerance  that  one  may  extend  to  the  imperfections 
of  an  anthropoid  ape.  Now  don't  fire  up!  They  have 
always  been  nice  to  me.  Still  I  can  feel  the  superiority 
beneath  the  surface.  With  Carter  it  is  different.  Him 
they  classify  with  the  Canadian  settlers,  and  you  may 
fancy  the  effect  on  a  man  who,  in  skill  of  hands  and 
brain,  character,  all  the  things  that  count  in  life,  stands 
waist-high  above  them.  He  sees  them  cheated,  cozened 
by  every  shyster.  Men  in  years,  they  are  children  in 
experience,  and  if  help  from  home,  were  withdrawn  not 
one  could  stand  on  his  own  legs.  They  are  the  trim 
mings  of  their  generation,  encumbrances  on  the  family 

52 


THE  SHADOW 

estate  or  fortune,  useless  timber  lopped  off  from  the 
genealogical  tree.  Do  you  wonder  that  he  despises  them  ?" 

"I  think,"  she  said,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "that 
he  is  too  stern  in  his  judgments.  Impracticability  isn't 
a  crime,  Bert,  and  people  ought  not  to  be  blamed  for 
the  conditions  that  made  them." 

"True,  little  wisehead." 

"He  ought,"  she  went  on,  "to  be  more  friendly.  I'm 
sure  Mrs.  Leslie  likes  him." 

Morrill  smothered  a  laugh.  "Carter's  a  mighty  hand 
some  man,  young  lady,  and  Mrs.  Leslie  is — a  shade  im 
pressionable.  But  in  social  affairs  women  decide  on 
women,  men  on  men." 

She  nodded,  puckering  her  brow.  "Yes,  but  he  be 
haved  dreadfully  to  Captain  Molyneux." 

Her  genuine  distress  prevented  the  laugh  from  escap 
ing.  "Tell  me  about  it,"  he  sympathized. 

"It  was  the  other  evening  when  he  came  to  drive  me 
home.  Despite  his  reserve,  the  younger  boys  all  like 
him,  and  when  Captain  Molyneux  brought  me  out  he 
was  telling  Mr.  Poole  and  Mr.  Rhodes  about  a  horse 
that  Danvers  had  bought  from  Cummings.  'The  crit 
ter,'  Carter  said,  'is  blind,  spavined,  sweenied,  and  old 
enough  to  homestead.' 

"'Well,'  the  captain  added,  'Danvers  has  always 
needed  a  guardian,  Mr.  Carter.'" 

"In  his  patronizing  way?"  Morrill  commented. 

"A  little,  perhaps,"  she  admitted.  "Then,  looking 
straight  at  us,  Carter  answered,  '  He  could  have  picked 
a  worse.'  What  did  he  mean,  Bert?  The  captain  red 
dened  and  the  boys  looked  silly." 

Morrill  grinned.     "Well  —  you  see,  Nell,  Molyneux's 

income  is  mostly  derived  from  the  farming  of  pupils 

who  are  apprenticed  to  him  by  a  firm  of  London  lawyers 

while  under  the  impression  that  colonial  farming  is  a 

*  53 


THE  SETTLER 

complex  business  that  requires  years  of  study.  Having 
whacked  up  from  five  hundred  to  five  thousand  dollars 
premium,  they  find,  on  arrival,  that  they  have  simply 
paid  for  the  privilege  of  doing  ordinary  farm  work. 
You  said  Molyneux's  place  was  a  model.  No  wonder, 
when  he  draws  pay  where  other  men  have  to  hire.  No, 
the  business  isn't  exactly  dishonorable!"  He  anticipated 
her  question.  "He  does  teach  them  something,  and  pre 
vents  them  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  Canuck 
shysters  who  would  bleed  them  for  hundreds  when  he 
takes  fifties.  But — well,  it  isn't  a  business  I'd  care  to 
be  in.  But  there!  I've  talked  myself  tired,  and  Moly- 
neux  is  coming  at  three  to  drive  you  up  to  Leslie's. 
You  have  just  half  an  hour  to  dress." 

"But  I  won't  go,"  she  protested,  "if  you're  not  feeling 
well/' 

"Bosh!"  he  laughed.  "I'm  dying  to  be  rid  of  you. 
Expect  to  get  quiet  sleep  this  afternoon." 

But  as,  half  an  hour  later,  he  watched  her  drive  away, 
his  face  darkened,  and  he  muttered:  "This  will  never 
do.  She  can't  settle  down  to  this  life.  Just  as  soon — " 
A  fit  of  coughing  left  him  gasping;  but,  under  the  merci 
ful  hallucination  that  attends  consumption,  he  finished, 
"I'll  sell  out  as  soon  as  I'm  rid  of  this  cough  and  go 
back  to  the  law." 

Carter  also  watched  her  go.  As,  dank  with  sweat, 
grimed  with  dust  and  labor,  he  "geed"  his  oxen  around 
the  "land,"  she  went  by,  a  flutter  of  billowy  white, 
deliciously  dainty,  cool,  and  clean.  The  contrast  em 
phasized  the  difference  between  them  so  strongly  that  a 
sudden  feeling  of  bitter  hopelessness  caused  him  to  re 
turn  only  a  stern  nod  to  her  bow  and  smile.  Surprised, 
she  looked  back,  and  gleaning,  perhaps,  an  intuition  of 
his  feeling  from  the  dogged  set  of  his  face  and  figure, 
she  was  swept  with  sudden  pity. 

54 


THE  SHADOW 

For  a  mile  she  was  quiet;  but  while  the  sun  shines 
youth  may  not  hobnob  with  care,  and  that  was  a 
perfect  day.  Autumn's  crimsons  mottled  the  tawny 
prairies ;  waves  of  sunshine  chased  one  another  over  the 
brown  grasses  to  the  distant  forest  line;  and  as,  with 
cheerful  clatter  of  pole  and  harness,  the  buggy  dipped, 
swallow-like,  over  the  long  earth  rolls,  her  spirits  rose. 
She  laughed,  chatted,  within  five  miles  was  involved  in 
a  mild  flirtation.  That  was  wicked !  Of  course !  After 
wards,  in  private,  she  mortified  the  strain  of  coquetry 
that  made  such  shame  possible.  Yet  it  was  very  natu 
ral.  Given  a  handsome  man,  a  pretty  maid,  and  isola 
tion,  what  else  should  follow?  Molyneux  had  travelled 
in  far  countries  and  talked  well  of  them  and  their  savage 
peoples.  He  knew  London,  the  Mecca  of  womankind, 
like  a  book;  abounded  in  anecdotes  of  people  and  places 
that  had  been  awesome  names  to  her.  Also  he  was 
skilled  in  subtle  flattery,  never  exceeding  by  a  hair's- 
breadth  the  amount  which  her  vanity — of  which  she 
had  a  pretty  woman's  rightful  share — could  easily  assimi 
late.  Small  wonder  if  she  forgot  the  grim  figure  at  the 
ploughtail. 

Forge tfulness,  however,  was  not  for  Carter.  As  he 
followed  the  steady  rhythm  of  his  furrows  in  heat  and 
dust,  heavy  thought  now  loosened,  now  tightened  the 
corners  of  his  mouth.  But  bitterness  did  not  hold  him 
long. 

"Baby!  You  are  going  to  get  her.  But  that  ain't 
the  way  to  play  the  game,"  he  said,  as  the  buggy  disap 
peared.  And  she  saw  only  friendliness  in  his  smile  on 
her  return  that  evening  and  the  score  of  other  occasions 
on  which  he  watched  her  goings  and  comings. 

He  "played  his  game "  like  a  man,  and  with  a  masterly 
hand.  Never  obtrusive,  he  was  always  kind,  cheerful, 
hopefully  sympathetic  during  Merrill's  bad  spells.  At 

55 


THE  SETTLER 

other  times  his  dry  humor  kept  her  laughing.  He  was 
always  helpful.  When  the  snows  blanketed  the  prairies 
he  instructed  her  in  the  shifts  of  winter  housekeeping — 
how  to  keep  the  cabin  snug  when  the  blizzard  walled  it 
in  fleecy  cloud;  how  to  keep  the  frost  out  of  the  cellar 
and  from  the  small  stock  of  fruits  in  the  pantry.  To 
gether  they  "froze  down"  a  supply  of  milk  against  the 
time  when  it  would  be  cruel  to  keep  cows  milking.  A 
night's  frost  transmuted  her  pans  of  milk  into  oval 
cakes,  which  he  piled  out-doors  like  cordwood.  A  milk 
pile!  The  snows  soon  covered  it,  and  how  she  laughed 
when,  drawing  home  wood  from  the  forest,  he  mistook 
the  pile  for  a  drift  and  so  upset  his  load. 

Indeed,  he  wrought  well!  Kindliness,  good  temper, 
consideration,  these  are  splendid  bases  for  love.  Not 
that  he  ever  hinted  his  hope.  He  was  far  too  shrewdly 
circumspect.  It  speaks  for  the  quality  of  his  wit  that 
he  recognized  that,  given  differences  in  rank  and  station, 
love  must  steal  upon  her  from  ambush.  Startled,  she 
would  fly  behind  ramparts  that  would  be  proof  against 
the  small  god's  sharpest  arrows.  So  he  was  very  care 
ful,  masking  his  feeling  under  a  gentle  imperturbability; 
sure  that,  if  not  alarmed,  she  must  turn  to  him  in  the 
coming  time  of  trouble. 

For  Morrill  had  steadily  failed  since  winter  set  in. 
During  the  Christmas  week  he  rallied,  recovered  voice 
and  color,  improved  so  much  that  Helen  yielded  to  his 
wish  for  her  to  attend  a  New  Year's  party  at  Mrs.  Les 
lie's;  and  as  she  kissed  him  good-bye  there  was  nothing 
to  indicate  that  this  was  but  the  last  flash,  the  leaping 
flame  which  precedes  the  darkness. 

A  genuine  frontier  party,  it  was  to  be  an  all-day  affair, 
and  Carter  drove  her  up  in  the  morning.  New  Year  had 
broken  beautifully:  clear,  bright,  almost  warm;  for  the 
first  time  in  a  month  the  mercury  had  thawed  long 

56 


THE  SHADOW 

enough  to  register  twenty-eight  below.  There  had  been 
no  wind  or  drift  for  a  week,  so  the  trail  was  packed  hard, 
and  as  the  ponies  swept  its  curves,  balancing  the  cutter 
on  one  or  the  other  runner,  rapid  motion  joined  with 
pleasurable  anticipation  to  raise  the  girl's  spirits  to  the 
point  of  repentance. 

"Here  I'm  laughing  and  chatting,"  she  said,  soberly, 
"when  I  ought  to  be  home  with  Bert." 

"Nonsense!"  Carter  glanced  approvingly  upon  the 
glow  which  the  keen  air  had  brought  to  her  cheeks. 
"You  haven't  been  out  for  a  month,  and  you  were  get 
ting  that  pale  and  peaked.  I  shall  be  with  him.  Now 
you  just  go  in  for  a  good  time." 

His  generous  solicitude  for  her  happiness,  for  she  was 
going  among  people  he  did  not  like,  touched  her.  "I 
wish  you  were  coming,"  she  said.  Then  she  added, 
"Won't  you  come  in — just  for  a  little  while — if  Mrs. 
Leslie  asks  you?" 

He  returned  her  coaxing  smile.  "I'll  see."  And  as 
the  men  were  all  away,  clearing  a  slough  for  skat 
ing,  he  stayed  long  enough  to  drink  a  toast  with  Mrs. 
Leslie. 

That  lady's  eyes  shone  with  soft  approval  as,  stand 
ing  by  the  table  that  was  already  spread  with  glass,  sil 
ver,  and  white  napery,  he  bowed.  "To  your  continued 
health  and  beauty." 

"Now  wasn't  that  pretty?"  she  exclaimed,  after  he 
was  gone.  "Do  you  know,  standing  there  in  his  furs, 
so  tall  and  strong,  he  reminded  me  of  one  of  those  old 
Norsemen  who  sometimes  strayed  into  degenerate  south 
ern  courts.  You  are  happy  in  your  cavalier,  my  dear. 
If  he  asked  me,  I  believe  I'd  run  away  with  him."  And 
there  was  a  sigh  in  her  laugh.  For  though  a  good  fellow, 
Leslie  was  prodigiously  chuckle-headed,  and  she  had 
moods  when  his  simple  foolishness  was  as  unbearable  as 

57 


THE  SETTLER 

her  own  frivolity — dangerous  moods  for  a  woman  of  her 

light  timber. 

"I  wish,"  she  added,  a  little  later,  "that  we  could 
have  persuaded  him  to  stay." 

He  knew  better.  Striding,  a  conqueror,  into  southern 
halls,  the  Norseman  cut  a  mighty  figure  where  he  would 
have  made  but  a  poor  appearance  as  an  invited  guest. 
A  thought  that  was  expressed  in  Carter's  meditation  on 
the  homeward  drive. 

"She  meant  it,  shorely!  But,  bless  her!  you  ain't  to 
be  drawn  into  such  a  brace  game.  You'd  look  nice 
among  those  dudes.". 

He  had  left  no  fire  in  his  cabin,  but  he  was  not  sur 
prised  when,  afar  off,  he  saw  his  stove-pipe  flinging  a 
banner  of  smoke  to  the  crystal  air.  As  yet  the  north- 
land  had  not  achieved  refinements  in  the  shape  of  locks 
and  bolts,  and,  coming  in  from  a  forty-mile  drive  from 
a  Cree  village,  Father  Francis,  the  priest  of  the  Assini- 
boin  mission,  had  put  in  and  brewed  a  jug  of  tea. 

Easy,  courteous  in  bearing,  upright  despite  his  silvered 
years,  the  priest  came  to  the  door  and  welcomed  Carter 
home.  "Not  much  travel  beyond  the  settlements,"  he 
said.  "It  was  pretty  heavy  going  and  my  ponies  are 
tired.  So  I'll  just  accept  the  old  invitation,  son,  and 
stay  the  night — that  is" —  his  mellow  laugh  rang  out 
— "if  my  presence  won't  make  you  anathema  maranatha 
unto  your  neighbors." 

Carter  knew  them,  their  rigid  dogmatism,  the  bigotry 
which  made  them  look  askance  at  this  man  who,  for 
thirty  years,  had  fought  the  devil  over  the  face  of  a 
parish  as  big  as  an  Eastern  State. 

"I  don't  allow  that  they'll  more  than  excommunicate 
me,"  he  grinned,  "and  if  they  do  I  reckon  that  you'd 
drop  the  bars  of  your  fold." 

"Gladly!"  the  priest  laughed.  "They  are  always 

58 


THE  SHADOW 

down,  son."  So,  seated  by  the  humming  stove  with  the 
jug  steaming  between  them,  the  two  settled  down  to 
exchange  the  news  of  the  neighborhood — an  elastic  term 
that  stretched  over  territory  enough  to  set  an  Old- World 
kingdom  up  in  business. 

It  was  strange  gossip.  To  the  north  of  them — and 
not  very  far  at  that;  old  Fort  Pelly  lay  within  twenty 
miles — the  Hudson  Bay  Company,  the  oldest  of  charter 
ed  traders,  still  lorded  it  over  the  tribes.  In  dark  woods, 
on  open  prairies  stood  the  forts  with  their  storehouses, 
fur  lofts  waiting  groups  of  Indians.  There  Factor, 
Clerk,  the  Bois  Brules  still  lived  and  loved  in  the  primi 
tive  fashion,  careless  of  the  settlement,  first  wave  of 
civilization  that  was  lipping  around  their  borders.  So 
the  talk  ran  on  fur  packs,  mishaps  by  trail  or  river, 
sinister  doings  in  the  far  north,  where  the  aftermath 
of  the  Metis  rebellion  was  still  simmering.  A  wild  bud 
get!  What  between  it  and  Carter's  choring,  dark  was 
settling  as  he  and  the  priest  entered  Morrill's  cabin. 

Both  started  at  what  they  saw.  Despite  Carter's 
optimism  in  Helen's  presence,  he  had  been  fully  alive 
to  Morrill's  condition,  yet  —  he  now  stood,  shocked, 
grieved  in  the  presence  of  the  expected. 

The  sick  man  was  wellnigh  spent,  yet  the  stroke  of 
death  brought  only  a  spark  from  his  iron  courage. 
"Another  hemorrhage!"  he  whispered.  "Shortly  after 
you  left.  No,  don't  go  for  Helen.  She  gets  so  little 
pleasure.  It  is  all  over.  I'll  be  all  right  to-morrow." 

But  it  was  not  all  over — though  it  would  be  "right" 
on  the  morrow.  The  rising  moon  saw  Carter's  ponies 
scouring  the  ghostly  snows. 

It  had  been  a  jolly  party,  skating  in  the  afternoon, 
music  and  dancing  in  the  evening;  then,  as  reserve 
thawed  under  the  prolonged  association,  they  had  fallen 
to  playing  Christmas  games.  Forfeits  were  being  "de- 

59 


THE  SETTLER 

clared  "  as  Carter  reined  in  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Leslie's 
merry  tones  fell  like  blasphemy  upon  his  ear. 

"Fine  or  superfine?" 

"Superfine?  Then  that  must  be  Helen!  Captain 
Molyneux  will — "  The  penalty  was  drowned  in  uproar, 
which  also  smothered  his  knock.  Followed  loud  laugh 
ter,  and  the  door  quivered  under  the  impact  of  struggling 
bodies. 

"Don't— please!" 

Now,  under  Christmas  license  no  girl  is  particularly 
averse  to  being  kissed,  and  had  Molyneux  gone  a  little 
more  gently  about  it,  Helen  had  probably  offered  no 
more  than  the  conventional  resistance.  But  when  he 
forced  her  head  back  so  that  her  lips  would  come  up  to 
his  with  all  the  abandon  of  lovers,  she  broke  his  grip, 
and  when  pinned  again  against  the  door,  struggled  madly. 

"Don't!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  accent.  A  flame  of  an 
ger,  leaping,  confusing,  blinded  Carter.  His  every  mus 
cle  contorted.  From  his  unconscious  pressure,  hasp  and 
handle  flew  from  the  door;  as  Mrs.  Leslie  shrieked  her 
surprise,  his  hand  dropped  on  Helen's  shoulder,  and 
from  that  small  leverage  his  elbow  sent  Molyneux  stag 
gering  back  to  the  wall. 

The  action  cleared  his  brain,  calmed  the  great  muscles 
that  quivered  under  his  furs  with  primordial  impulse  to 
break  and  tear.  The  flush  faded  from  his  tan,  the  flash 
from  his  eye.  The  hasp  lay  on  the  floor  with  the  han 
dle  he  had  forgotten  to  turn.  He  saw  neither  them  nor 
the  guests  in  their  postures  of  uneasy  astonishment. 
Before  his  mental  vision  rose  the  scene  he  had  just  left, 
the  priest  kneeling  in  prayer  beside  a  dying  man. 

The  reaction  of  his  shove  had  thrown  Helen  in  against 
him,  and  her  touch  recalled  his  mission.  "Your  broth 
er — "  he  began,  then  paused.  He  had  meant  to  break 

60 


THE  SHADOW 

it  gently,  but  the  confusion  of  conflicting  emotions  left 
him  nothing  but  the  fact.  "Is — "  he  went  on,  then, 
appalled  by  a  sudden  sense  of  the  ruthlessness  of  it,  he 
stopped.  But,  reading  the  truth  in  his  eyes,  she  col 
lapsed  on  his  arm. 

To  Carter,  waiting  outside  in  the  moonlight  for  Helen, 
came  Molyneux,  and  the  door  closing  behind  him  shut 
in  the  hum  of  wonder  and  the  sobbing  that  came  from 
the  bedroom  where  the  women  were  putting  on  their 
wraps. 

Molyneux  was  smoking,  though,  to  give  him  his  due, 
he  did  not  require  that  invaluable  aid  to  a  cool  bearing. 
Regarding  the  spirals,  curling  sharply  blue  in  the  moon 
light,  he  remarked,  "I  don't  quite  understand  your 
methods,  my  friend."  The  insolence  of  the  "my  friend " 
is  indescribable.  "It  may  be  fashionable  in  Stump  town 
to  announce  bad  news  by  breaking  down  a  gentleman's 
door,  but  with  us — it  savors  of  roughness." 

"Roughness  ?"  Carter  scrutinized  the  dim  horizon. 
"  It  wasn't  all  on  one  side  of  the  door — my  friend."  His 
mimicry  was  perfect. 

The  captain  hummed,  cleared  his  throat.  "A  little 
Christmas  foolery — perfectly  allowable." 

Carter's  gaze  shifted  to  the  nimbus  about  the  moon, 
a  clear  storm  warning.  "Foolery  becomes  roughness 
when  it  ain't  agreeable  to  both  parties." 

"Who  told  you  it  wasn't?" 

"My  ear.     If  your's  didn't — it  needs  training." 

Molyneux  smoked  out  a  pause  that  perhaps  covered  a 
slight  confusion.  "Well,  I  don't  care  to  accept  you  for 
a  music-master.  Under  the  distressing  circumstances, 
I  shall  have  to  let  it  pass — for  the  present.  But  I  shall 
not  forget." 

Carter  smiled  at  the  moon.     "Looks  like  storm?" 

61 


VII 

MR.  PLYNN  STEPS  INTO  THE  BREACH 

A7TER  putting  forth  a  feeble  struggle  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  funeral,  the  pale  winter  sun  retired  for 
good  as  the  north  wind  began  to  herd  the  drift  over 
vast  white  steppes.  Though  fire  had  been  kept  up  all 
night  in  Morrill's  cabin  by  Mrs.  Flynn,  who  had  come 
in  to  perform  the  last  offices,  a  pail  of  water  had  frozen 
solid  close  to  the  stove.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
the  oven,  a  loaf  of  bread  yet  showed  frost  crystals  in  its 
centre  at  breakfast;  a  drop  of  coffee  congealed  as  it  fell 
in  the  saucer. 

It  was,  indeed,  the  hardest  of  weather.  By  noon  a 
half -inch  of  ice  levelled  the  window-panes  with  the  sash; 
pouring  through  the  key-hole  a  spume  of  fine  drift  laid 
a  white  finger  across  the  floor.  Outside,  the  spirit  ther 
mometer  registered  forty-five  below.  The  very  air  was 
frozen,  blanketing  the  snow  with  lurid  frost  clouds. 
Yet,  though  a  pair  of  iridescent  "sun-dogs"  gave  storm 
warnings,  a  score  of  Canadian  settlers,  men  and  women, 
assembled  for  the  service  in  the  cabin.  Severe,  silent, 
they  sat  around  on  boards  and  boxes,  eying  Mrs.  Leslie 
and  other  English  neighbors  with  great  disfavor,  in 
wardly  critical  of  the  funeral  arrangements.  For  cere 
mony  and  service  had  been  stripped  of  the  lugubrious 
attributes  which  gave  mournful  satisfaction  to  the 
primitive  mind.  Helen  herself,  in  her  quiet  grief,  was 
a  disappointment;  and  she  wore  no  black  or  other 

62 


MR.  FLYNN  STEPS  INTO  THE  BREACH 

grievous  emblem.  Worse!  The  casket-lid  was  screwed 
down,  and,  filched  of  their  prerogative  of  "viewing  the 
corpse,"  they  turned  gloomy  faces  to  the  theological 
student  who  had  come  out  from  Lone  Tree. 

Here  was  an  additional  disappointment.  Afterwards, 
in  the  stable,  it  was  held  that  he  had  not  improved  the 
occasion.  Of  Morrill,  who  had  been  so  lax  in  his  attend 
ance  at  occasional  preachings  as  to  justify  a  suspicion 
of  atheism,  he  could  have  made  an  edifying  text,  thrill 
ing  his  hearers  with  doubts  as  to  whether  the  man  was 
altogether  fallen  short  of  grace.  But  there  was  none  of 
this.  Just  a  word  on  the  brother's  sunny  nature  and 
brave  fight  against  wasting  sickness,  and  he  was  passed 
without  doubt  of  title  to  mansions  in  the  skies. 

"I  don't  call  that  no  sermon,"  Hines  growled,  as  he 
thrust  a  frosty  bit  into  his  pony's  mouth.  "Missed  all 
the  good  points,  he  did." 

"Never  heerd  the  like,"  said  Shinn,  his  neighbor, 
nearest  in  disposition  as  well  as  location.  "Not  a  bit 
of  crape  for  the  pall-bearers.  I  know  a  person  that 
ain't  going  to  be  missed  much." 

"I've  heerd,"  another  man  said,  "as  he  doubted  the 
Scriptures.  If  that  is  so — •  Is  it  true  as  the  Roman 
priest  was  with  him  at  the  last?" 

Hines  despondently  nodded.  "We'll  hope  for  the 
best,"  he  said,  with  an  accent  that  murdered  the  hope. 

Shinn,  however,  who  never  could  compass  the  art  of 
suggestion,  gave  plainer  terms  to  his  thought.  "There 
ain't  a  doubt  in  my  mind.  It's  a  warning  to  turn  from 
the  paths  he  trod." 

"You  needn't  be  scairt."  From  the  gloom  of  the  far 
corner,  where  he  was  harnessing  the  team  that  was  to 
draw  the  burial  sleigh,  Bender's  voice  issued.  ."You 
needn't  be  scairt.  There  ain't  a  damn  one  of  you  travel 
ling  his  trail." 

63 


THE  SETTLER 

Ensued  a  silence,  then  Hines  snarled,  "No,  an*  I  ain't 
agoing  to  follow  him  on  this.  If  you  fellows  want  to 
tag  after  priests'  leavings,  you  kin.  I'm  pulling  my 
freight  for  home." 

"You're  what?" 

Hines  quailed  as  Bender's  huge  body  and  blue-scarred 
face  materialized  from  the  gloom.  "I  said  as  'twas  too 
cold  to  go  to  the  grave." 

"You  did,  eh?  Well,  you're  going.  Not  that  your 
presence  is  necessary,  but  just  because  you  ain't  to  be 
allowed  to  show  disrespect  to  a  better  man  than  your 
self.  Tie  up  that  hoss.  You're  agoing  to  ride  with 
me.  An'  if  there's  any  other  man  as  thinks  his  team 
ain't  fit  to  buck  the  drifts" — •  his  fierce  eyes  searched 
for  opposition —  "he'll  find  room  in  my  sleigh." 

So  with  Hines — albeit  much  against  his  will — heading 
the  procession,  a  long  line  of  sleighs  sped  through  the 
mirk  drift  to  the  lonely  acre  which  had  been  set  apart 
for  the  long  sleep.  A  few  posts  and  a  single  wire  mark 
ed  it  off  from  white  wastes,  and  through  these  the  drift 
flew  with  sibilant  hiss,  piling  against  the  mounded  grave 
which  Flynn  and  Carter  had  thawed  out  and  dug,  inch 
by  inch,  with  many  fires,  these  last  two  days.  And  there 
was  small  ceremony.  King  Frost  is  no  respecter  of  per 
sons,  freezes  alike  the  quick  and  the  dead.  Removing 
his  cap  to  offer  a  short  prayer,  the  student's  ears  turned 
deathly  white;  while  he  rubbed  them  with  snow,  the 
mourners  spelled  one  another  with  the  shovels,  working 
furiously  in  vain  efforts  to  warm  chilled  blood.  Roughly 
filled,  the  grave  was  left  to  be  smoothed  in  warmer  sea 
son;  the  living  fled,  leaving  the  dead  with  the  drift,  the 
frost,  the  wind,  stern  ministers  of  the  illimitable. 

No  woman  had  dared  the  weather.  Lying  in  the 
bottom  of  a  sled,  under  hides  and  blankets,  with  hot 
stones  at  hands  and  feet,  Helen  had  gone  home  with 


MR.  FLYNN  STEPS  INTO  THE  BREACH 

Mrs.  Leslie.  Coming  back  from  the  grave  she  formed 
the  subject  of  conversation  between  Flynn  and  Carter, 
who  rode  together. 

To  Flynn's  inquiry  Carter  replied  that,  as  far  as  he 
was  aware,  she  had  no  private  means.  Her  father,  a 
physician  in  good  practice  in  a  New  England  town,  had 
lived  up  to  every  cent  of  his  income,  and  the  insurance 
he  carried  had  been  mortgaged  to  start  the  brother  out 
West. 

"Not  having  any  special  training,"  Carter  finished, 
"she  had  to  choose  between  a  place  in  a  store  or  keep 
ing  house  for  him." 

"It's  no  snap  in  them  sthores,"  Flynn  sighed.  " Shmall 
pay  an*  big  temptations,  they're  telling  me."  Then, 
giving  Carter  the  tail  of  his  eye,  he  added,  "But  there'll 
be  nothing  else  for  it — now?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Carter  mused.  "Flynn,  are  you 
and  the  other  married  folks  around  here  going  to  let 
your  families  grow  up  in  ignorance?  Ain't  it  pretty 
nigh  time  you  was  forming  a  school  district?" 

In  the  slit  between  his  cap  and  scarf  the  Irishman's 
eyes  twinkled  like  blue  jewels.  Affecting  ignorance, 
however,  he  answered,  "An*  phwere  would  we  be  after 
getting  a  teacher  in  this  frozen  country?" 

"MissMorrill." 

Flynn  subdued  his  laugh  out  of  respect  to  the  occa 
sion.  "Jest  what's  in  me  own  mind.  An'  there'll  be 
no  lack  av  children  for  the  same  school,  me  boy,  when 
you —  There,  don't  be  looking  mad!  'Tis  after  the 
order  of  nature;  an'  I'm  not  blaming  ye,  she's  sweet 
as  she's  pretty.  Putting  you  an*  me  out  av  the  ques 
tion,  I'd  do  it  for  her.  An'  it  shouldn't  be  so  hard — 
if  we  can  corral  the  bachelors.  But  lave  thim  to  me." 

And  Flynn  went  about  it  with  all  the  political  sagac 
ity  inherent  in  his  race.  "We'll  not  be  spreading  the 

65 


THE  SETTLER 

news  much,  he  told  the  married  men  to  whom  he  broach 
ed  the  subject.  "Not  a  word  till  we  get  'em  in  meeting, 
or  they'll  organize  an'  vote  us  down." 

Accordingly  the  summons  to  gather  in  public  meeting 
was  issued  without  statement  of  purpose,  a  mystery 
that  brought  out  every  settler  for  twenty  miles  around. 
An  hour  before  time,  some  fifty  men,  rough-looking 
fellows  in  furs,  arctic  socks,  moose -skins,  and  mocca 
sins,  crowded  into  the  post-office,  which,  as  most  cen 
trally  located,  was  chosen  for  the  meeting. 

The  expected  opposition  developed  as  soon  as  the 
postmaster,  who  presided,  mentioned  "  eddycation. " 

''More  taxation!"  a  bachelor  roared.  "You're  to 
marry  the  girls  an*  we're  to  eddycate  the  kids!" 

"Right  you  are,  Pete!"  others  chorused. 

But  Flynn  was  ready.  "Is  that  you,  Pete  Ross?" 
He  transfixed  the  speaker  with  his  blue  twinkle.  "An* 
yerself  coorting  the  Brown  girl  so  desprit  that  she  don't 
get  time  to  comb  her  hair  anny  more  ? 

"An'  you,  Bill  MacCloud,"  he  went  on,  as  Peter, 
growling  that  he  "wasn't  married  yet,"  carried  his 
blushing  face  behind  the  stove,  "you  that's  galloping 
your  ponies  so  hard  after  the  Baker  girl.  Twins  it  was, 
twice  running,  in  her  mother's  family,  an'  well  ye  know 
it.  A  public  school  ain't  good  enough  for  you,  Bill? 
Which  is  to  be — a  governess,  or  a  young  ladies'  simi- 
nery?" 

So,  one  after  another,  Flynn  smote  the  bachelors. 
Had  a  man  so  much  as  winked  at  a  girl,  it  made  a  text 
for  a  sermon  that  was  witty  as  risque. 

Yet  he  was  so  good-tempered  about  it  that  by  the 
time  he  had  finished  grilling  the  last  victim  the  first- 
cooked  were  joining  their  laughter  to  that  of  the  mar 
ried  men. 

Then  Flynn  turned  his  eloquence  upon  a  common 

66 


MR.  FLYNN  STEPS  INTO  THE  BREACH 

evil.  Everywhere  the  best  of  the  land  had  passed  into 
the  hands  of  non-resident  speculators,  who  hindered 
settlement  and  development  by  holding  for  high  prices. 
"Was  it  a  question  of  increased  taxation?"  Flynn  asked. 
Then  let  the  non-residents  pay.  Under  the  law  they 
could  expend  eight  hundred  dollars  on  a  building.  Well, 
they  would  distribute  the  contracts  among  themselves — 
one  man  cut  logs,  another  hew  them,  a  third  draw  them, 
and  so  on!  Every  man  should  have  a  contract,  an'  who 
the  divil  would  care  if  taxes  were  raised  on  the  specu 
lators. 

It  was  his  closing  argument,  however,  that  finished 
the  bachelors.  "Now  me  an'  Jimmy  have  spotted  a 
teacher,  a  right  smart  young  woman—" 

A  howl  of  applause  cut  him  short — the  bachelors 
would  call  it  settled! 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  as,  a  week  or  so  after  the 
funeral,  Carter  was  driving  Helen  from  Leslie's  back  to 
her  cabin,  a  deputation  consisting  of  Mr.  Flynn  and  Mr. 
Glaves  was  heading  in  the  same  direction. 

All  that  week  the  cabin  had  stood,  fireless,  a  mournful 
blot  on  the  snowscape,  but  though  she  was  only  to  be 
there  for  the  hour  required  to  pack  her  belongings, 
Carter  had  swept  out  the  drift  that  morning  and  put  on 
the  fires.  So  the  place  was  cosey  and  warm.  Yet,  with 
all  its  cheer,  on  entering,  she  relapsed  into  the  first  pas 
sionate  grief.  For  nothing  is  so  vividly  alive  as  the 
things  of  a  dead  person,  and  everywhere  her  glance  fell 
on  objects  her  brother  had  used.  Divining  the  cause, 
Carter  left  her  to  have  her  cry  out  on  pretence  of  stable 
chores,  and  when  he  returned  she  was  busily  packing. 

So  while  she  worked  he  talked,  explaining  her  affairs 
as  related  to  himself  through  his  partnership  with 
Morrill.  Their  cattle  were  worth  so  much,  but  as  it 
would  require  a  summer's  grazing  to  fit  them  for  mar- 


THE  SETTLER 

ket,  he  would  advance  the  money  on  her  share.  He 
did  not  mention  the  fact  that  he  would  have  to  borrow 
it  himself  at  usurer's  interest.  As  to  the  homestead: 
Land  was  unsalable  since  the  bottom  fell  out  of  the 
boom,  but  in  any  case  it  was  advisable  to  hold  for  the 
values  that  would  accrue  with  the  coming  of  the  rail 
road.  He  would  rent  it,  on  settler's  terms,  paying  road- 
work  and  taxes  for  use  of  the  broken  land. 

As,  kindly  thoughtful  for  her  interests,  he  ran  on, 
she  rose  from  her  packing,  grasped  his  hand  impulsive 
ly,  squeezed  his  arm  to  her  bosom. 

"You  have  been  so  good!"  The  sunsets  in  her  cheeks, 
the  softness  of  her  glance,  her  touch,  almost  upset  his 
reason.  But  he  resisted  a  mad  impulse. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said,  when  he  could  trust  himself  to 
speak.  "I'm  going  to  make  money  off  you." 

"Really?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

"Really,"  he  smiled  back. 

"I — wish  you  could,"  she  sighed.  "But  I  am  afraid 
you  are  saying  that  to  please  me.  Well,  you  know  best. 
Do  as  you  please." 

Had  he  done  as  he  pleased,  the  question  of  their  mutual 
interests  would  have  been  simply  solved.  But  the  time 
was  not  ripe.  He  was  too  shrewd  to  mistake  gratitude 
for  love. 

"Now,"  he  said,  resolutely  thrusting  away  tempta 
tion,  "if  it's  any  of  my  darn  business — what  are  your 
plans?" 

"My  plans?"  Leaning  on  the  table  beside  him,  she 
gazed  dreamily  upon  the  frosted  panes.  The  question 
forced  in  upon  her  the  imminence  of  impending  change 
and  brought  a  feeling  of  strong  revulsion.  The  ties  that 
death  forges  are  stronger  than  those  of  life.  It  was  in 
expressibly  painful,  just  then,  to  think  of  leaving  the 
land  which  held  her  recent  dead. 

68 


MR.  FLYNN  STEPS  INTO  THE  BREACH 

"My  plans!"  she  mused,  knitting  her  brows.  "I 
haven't  any — yet.  Of  course  I  have  relatives,  back 
East.  But  as  father  did  not  like  them,  I  hardly  know 
more  than  their  names.  I  shall  have  to  do  something, 
but  Mrs.  Leslie  is  so  good.  She  won't  hear  of  me  leaving 
until  spring.  I  have  heaps  of  time  to  plan." 

But  having  bucked  trail  all  morning,  the  solution  of 
her  immediate  future  just  then  heralded  its  arrival  by 
the  groan  of  frosty  runners. 

"Me  an'  Jimmy,"  Mr.  Flynn  explained,  after  he  had 
introduced  his  co-trustee,  "is  a  depytation.  Being  as 
it's  the  only  crop  the  frost  won't  nip,  Silver  Creek  is 
going  to  raise  a  few  legislators.  We  want  the  young 
lady  to  teach  our  school." 

"But,"  Helen  objected,  when  she  had  assimilated  the 
startling  news,  "I  never  taught  school." 

"You'll  nivir  begin  younger,"  Flynn  comforted;  to 
which  he  added,  "An'  it's  the  foinest  training  agin  the 
time  ye '11  have  a  few  av  your  own." 

Mr.  Glaves  solemnly  contemplated  the  blushing  can 
didate.  "You  kin  sum,  ma'am — an'  spell?" 

"Oh  yes,"  she  assured  him.  "I  graduated  from  high- 
school." 

"You  don't  say!"  Both  trustees  regarded  her  with 
intense  admiration,  and  Glaves  said,  "We  didn't  expect 
to  get  that  much  for  our  money,  so  we'll  jest  have  you 
go  a  bit  easy  at  first,  lest  there'll  be  some  sprained 
intellec's  among  the  kiddies." 


VIII 

WHEN     APRIL     SMILED     AGAIN 

"\  X  yTE'LL   begin   right   soon  on  the   building,"  Mr. 

V  V  Glaves  had  said  at  parting.  So  when  the  mercury 
began  to  take  occasional  flights  above  zero  in  the  last 
days  of  February,  a  gang  turned  loose  in  the  bush. 
For  two  weeks  thereafter  falling  trees  and  the  bell-like 
tinkle  of  a  broadaxe  disturbed  the  forest  silence.  Then 
spring  rode  in  on  the  back  of  a  Chinook  wind  and  caught 
them  hauling.  Ensued  profanity.  Thawing  quickly, 
the  loose  snows  slid  away  from  the  packed  trails,  causing 
the  sleds  to  "cut  off";  the  bush  road  was  mottled  with 
overturned  loads.  Also  the  brilliant  sun  turned  the 
snowscape  into  one  huge  reflector.  Faces  frizzled. 
Dark  men  took  the  colors  of  raw  beefsteak,  fair  men 
peeled  and  cracked  like  over-ripe  tomatoes.  Yet  they 
persisted,  and  one  day  in  early  April  stood  off  to  look 
on  their  finished  work.  "Chinked,"  sod-roofed,  plas 
tered,  the  log  school-house  gleamed  yellow  under  the 
rays  of  the  dying  sun  —  education,  the  forerunner  of 
civilization,  had  settled  in  the  land. 

As  his  cabin  was  nearest  the  school,  the  honor  of 
boarding  the  teacher  fell  to  the  postmaster;  and  though 
her  choice  caused  heart-burnings  among  others  who 
had  coveted  the  distinction,  it  was  conceded  wise.  For 
not  only  did  the  Glaves's  establishment  boast  the  only 
partitioned  room  in  the  Canadian  settlement,  but  his 
wife,  a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  excelled  in  the  concoction  of 

70 


WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 

carrot-jams,  turnip-pies,  choke-cherry  jellies,  and  other 
devices  by  which  skilled  housewives  eke  out  the  re 
sources  of  an  inhospitable  land. 

In  the  middle  of  April  school  opened;  a  dozen  small 
thirsters  after  knowledge  arranged  themselves  in  demure 
quiethood  before  authority  that  was  possessed  of  its 
own  misgivings.  Teacher  and  scholars  regarded  one  an 
other  with  secret  awe.  But  this  soon  wore  off  and  they 
toiled  amicably  along  the  road  which  winds  among 
arithmetical  pitfalls  and  grammatical  bogs  to  academic 
glories.  It  was  milestoned  by  deputations,  that  road, 
said  visitations  generally  consisting  of  one  person — 
mostly  unmarried  and  very  red  in  the  face — who  in 
quired  if  the  "kids  was  minding  their  book,"  then  went 
off  chuckling  at  his  own  hardihood.  Also  it  seemed  as 
though  all  the  stray  cattle  for  fifty  miles  around  headed 
for  the  school.  Helen  grew  quite  expert  in  ringing 
variations  on  the  fact  that  she  "had  not  seen  a  straw 
berry  steer  with  a  white  patch  on  the  left  flank."  Her 
smile  always  accompanied  the  answer,  and  the  owners 
of  the  hypothetical  estrays  would  carry  away  a  vision  of 
a  golden  and  glorified  school-ma'am.  What  of  these 
pleasant  interests,  and  an  unexpected  liking  which  she 
had  developed  for  the  work  itself,  she  became  very 
happy  in  a  quiet  way  as  time  dulled  the  edge  of  her  sor 
row. 

But  during  the  three  months  that  preceded  school 
opening  the  fates  had  not  been  idle.  Attending  strictly 
to  their  knitting,  they  had  run  a  tangled  woof  in  and 
out  the  warp  of  several  lives. 

"She's  so  good!"  Helen  had  exclaimed,  in  her  grati 
tude  of  Mrs.  Leslie;  but  analysis  of  that  lady's  motives 
would  have  shown  them  not  altogether  disinterested. 

Excluding  a  certain  absence  of  principle  that  was 
organic,  and  therefore  hardly  chargeable  against  her 

71 


THE  SETTLER 

till  philosophers  answer  the  question,  "Can  the  leopard 
change  his  spots  or  the  Ethiop  his  skin?"  Mrs.  Leslie 
was  not  fundamentally  vicious.  Like  the  average  of 
men  and  women,  she  would  have  preferred  to  have  been 
good,  and,  given  a  husband  whom  she  feared  and  loved, 
she  might  have  developed  into  a  small  Puritan  mightily 
jealous  for  their  mutual  prestige.  Lacking  this,  how 
ever,  she  was  as  a  straw  in  a  corner,  ready  to  rise  at 
the  first  wind  puff.  If,  so  far,  she  had  lived  in  the  fear 
of  Mrs.  Grundy,  her  conformity  inhered  in  two  causes — • 
no  man  in  her  own  set  had  stirred  her  nature,  and,  till 
Helen  came,  the  winds  of  Opportunity  had  blown  away 
from  Carter. 

What  drew  her  to  him  she  herself  could  hardly  have 
said;  and  if  the  cause  is  to  be  found  outside  of  the 
peculiar  texture  of  her  own  nature,  it  must  be  in  the 
natural  law  which  makes  opposites  attract.  Nature 
wars  incessantly  against  the  stratification  which  pre 
cedes  social  decay.  Whether  of  blood  or  water,  she  ab 
hors  stagnation.  Her  torrential  floods  cleanse  the  back 
waters  of  languid  streams;  passionate  impulses,  such 
as  Mrs.  Leslie's,  provide  for  the  injection  into  worn-out 
strains  of  the  rich  corpuscles  that  bubble  from  the  soil. 
Carter's  virile  masculinity,  contrasting  so  strongly  with 
the  amiable  effeminacy  of  her  own  set,  therefore  attract 
ed  Mrs.  Leslie,  and,  having  now  lassoed  Opportunity — • 
in  the  shape  of  Helen — she  hitched  the  willing  beast  and 
drove  him  tandem  with  inclination. 

Either  by  intuition  or  knowledge  subtly  wormed  from 
himself  or  others,  she  learned  Carter's  habits,  and  no 
matter  the  direction  of  the  drives  which  she  and  Helen 
took  together,  it  was  pure  accident  if  they  did  not  come 
in  touch  with  him.  Also  at  intervals  they  called  at  his 
cabin,  after  one  of  which  visits  Mrs.  Leslie  put  the 
house-cleaning  idea  into  Helen's  head,  insinuating  it  so 

72 


WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 

cleverly  that  the  girl  actually  thought  that  it  originated 
with  herself. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  untidy?"  she  exclaimed, 
as  on  that  occasion  they  drove  homeward.  "Harness, 
cooking-pots,  provisions,  all  in  a  tangle.  Bachelors  are 
such  grubby  creatures!  But  really,  my  dear,  he  deserves 
to  be  comfortable.  Couldn't  we  do  something? — hire 
some  one  to — " 

If  she  had  counted  on  the  girl's  grateful  enthusiasm, 
it  did  not  fail  her.  "Let's  do  it  ourselves!"  she  exclaim 
ed.  "I'd  love  to!" 

So,  in  Carter's  absence,  the  two  descended  upon  the 
cabin  with  soap,  pails,  and  hot  water.  Mrs.  Leslie,  the 
delicate,  white-armed  woman  who  kept  a  girl  to  do  her 
own  work,  rolled  up  her  sleeves  and  fell  to  work  like  a 
charwoman;  and  it  is  doubtful  if  she  were  ever  happier 
than  while  thus  expending,  in  service,  her  reserve  of 
illegal  feeling.  There  was,  indeed,  something  pitiful  in 
her  tender  energy.  When,  the  cleaning  done,  she  sat 
demurely  mending  a  rent  in  Carter's  coat,  she  might 
have  been  the  young  wife  of  her  imaginings. 

Her  sentimental  expression  moved  Helen  to  laughter. 
"You  look  so  domestic!"  she  tittered.  "So  soft  and 
contemplative.  One  would  think — " 

Mrs.  Leslie  was  too  clever  for  transparent  denial. 
"I  don't  care,"  she  answered.  "I  like  him.  He's 
awfully  dear."  And  her  expressed  preference  affected 
Helen — helped  to  break  down  the  last  barriers  of  caste 
feeling  between  herself  and  Carter.  Till  then  she  had 
always  maintained  a  slight  reserve  towards  him,  but 
when,  coming  in  unexpectedly,  he  caught  them  at  their 
labors,  she  was  as  free  and  frank  with  him  as  she  had 
ever  been  with  a  man  of  her  old  set.  The  change  ex 
pressed  itself  in  her  hand-shake  at  parting,  though  it  fell 
far  short  of  Mrs.  Leslie's  lingering  pressure. 

73 


THE  SETTLER 

In  his  surprise  at  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the 
latter,  Carter  may  have  returned  it,  or  Mrs.  Leslie  may 
have  mistaken  the  reaction  of  her  own  grip  for  answer. 
Anyway,  she  thought  he  did,  and  on  the  way  home  plead 
weariness  as  an  excuse  to  indulge  luxurious  contempla 
tions.  She  fed  on  his  every  look,  tone,  accent,  coloring 
them  all  with  her  own  feeling,  an  indulgence  for  which 
she  would  pay  later;  indeed,  she  was  even  then  paying, 
in  that  it  was  eating  away  her  weak  moral  fibre  as  acid 
eats  a  metal,  preparing  her  for  greater  licenses.  At  first, 
however,  she  was  timorous — content  with  small  touches, 
accidental  contacts,  the  physical  sense  of  nearness  when, 
as  often  happened,  they  coaxed  him  to  take  them  for  a 
drive  behind  his  famous  ponies. 

But  such  slight  fare  could  not  long  suffice  for  her 
growing  passion.  Having  observed,  outwardly,  the  laws 
of  social  morality  only  because,  so  far,  they  had  con 
sorted  with  inclination;  knowing,  inwardly,  no  law  but 
that  of  her  own  pleasure,  it  was  only  a  question  of  time 
until  she  would  become  desperate  enough  to  balance 
reputation  against  indulgence. 

This  came  to  pass  a  couple  of  months  after  Helen  had 
opened  up  school,  and  would  have  happened  sooner  but 
that  even  a  reputation  cannot  be  given  away  without  a 
bidder.  Not  that  Carter  was  ignorant  or  indifferent  to 
her  feeling.  Two  thousand  years  have  failed  to  make 
man  completely  monogamous  and  he  is  never  displeased 
at  a  pretty  woman's  preference.  A  condition  had  inter 
posed  between  the  fire  and  the  tow.  In  every  man's 
life  there  comes  a  time  when,  for  the  moment,  he  is 
impervious  to  the  call  of  illicit  passion.  A  first  pure 
love  bucklers  him  like  a  shining  aegis,  and  while  certain 
pure  eyes  looked  out  upon  Carter  from  earth,  air,  and 
sky,  wherever  his  fancy  strayed,  he  would  not  barter  a 
sigh  for  the  perishable  commodity  Elinor  Leslie  offered. 

74 


WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 

Having,  however,  formed  her  judgments  of  men  from 
the  weak  masculinity  about  her,  she  could  not  realize 
this.  Imagining  that  he  would  come  at  the  crook  of 
her  finger,  she  tried  to  recapture  Opportunity. 

"Mr.  Carter  was  so  kind  and  considerate  of  Helen 
that  I  think  we  ought  to  take  him  up,"  she  said  to  her 
husband  one  day;  and  Leslie,  whose  good-natured  stu 
pidity  lent  itself  to  every  suggestion,  readily  agreed. 

Unfortunately  for  her  scheme,  Carter  proved  unfelic- 
itously  blind  to  his  interest — as  she  saw  it.  Negative 
ly,  he  refused  to  be  "taken  up,"  offering  good-natured 
excuses  to  all  of  Leslie's  invitations.  So  nothing  was 
left  but  the  occasional  opportunities  afforded  by  Helen's 
week-end  visits.  And  these  did  not  always  lend  them 
selves  to  Mrs.  Leslie's  purpose.  When  Molyneux  brought 
her  up — as  happened  half  the  time — he  made  full  use  of 
his  monopoly;  while  Carter,  in  his  turn,  often  drove  her 
down  to  see  Jenny  in  Lone  Tree. 

To  do  the  young  lady  justice,  she  held  a  fairly  even 
balance  between  those,  her  two  cavaliers.  According 
to  the  canons  of  romance  she  ought  to  have  fallen  so 
deeply  in  love  with  one  as  to  hate  the  other.  Instead 
she  found  herself  liking  them  both. 

There  was,  of  course,  a  difference  in  the  quality  of  her 
feeling.  Strange  feminine  paradox!  she  was  drawn  to 
Molyneux  by  the  opposite  of  the  qualities  on  which  she 
based  her  feeling  for  Carter.  At  heart  woman  is  a  re 
former,  and  once  convinced  of  his  sincerity  towards 
herself,  the  fact  that  Molyneux  was  reputed  something 
of  a  sinner  increased  rather  than  lessened  her  interest. 
She  experienced  the  joys  of  driving  the  lion  in  leading- 
strings,  ignoring  the  danger  of  the  beast  turning  upon 
her  with  rending  fangs.  Feeling  her  power,  she  tried 
to  exercise  it  for  his  good,  and  felt  as  virtuous  over  the 
business  as  if  it  were  not  a  form  of  vanity,  and  a  dan- 

75 


THE  SETTLER 

gerous  one  at  that.  Anyway,  she  rode  and  drove  with 
him  so  much  that  spring  and  summer  that  she  practically 
annihilated  Mrs.  Leslie's  chances  of  seeing  Carter. 

That  lady  could,  however,  and  did  observe  him  in 
secret.  Riding  from  home  while  Leslie  was  busy  seed 
ing,  she  would  make  a  wide  detour,  keeping  the  low 
lands,  and  so  bring  up,  unobserved,  in  a  poplar  clump 
that  afforded  a  near  view  of  Carter's  fields. 

One  day  will  example  a  score  of  others.  It  was,  as 
aforesaid,  seeding-time.  Stripped  of  her  snowy  bodice, 
the  earth  lay  as  some  brown  virgin,  her  bosom  bared  to 
man's  wooing  and  the  kisses  of  the  sun  and  rain.  From 
her  covert  Mrs.  Leslie  could  see  his  ox -team  slowly 
crawling  upon  the  brown  fields  which,  as  yet,  had  known 
no  bearing  yoke.  Those  days  love  was  suggested  by 
everything  in  nature.  The  air  quivered  in  passionate 
lines  down  the  horizon.  Warmth,  light,  love  were  omni 
present.  By  every  slough  the  mallard  brooded.  Over 
head  the  wild  goose  winged  northward  to  bring  forth  her 
kind  on  the  rim  of  polar  seas.  Prairie  cocks  primped 
and  ruffled  on  every  knoll  before  their  admiring  hens. 
To  her  it  seemed  that  birds  and  beasts,  flesh  and  fowl 
were  happier  than  she  in  their  matings.  Passionately, 
with  bursting  sighs,  she  strained  at  her  chains,  wildly 
challenging  the  marriage  institution  which  has  slowly 
evolved  from  the  travail  of  a  thousand  generations. 

Hers  was  the  old  struggle  between  the  flesh  and  the 
spirit,  the  struggle  that  gave  the  sexless  desert  its  her 
mit  population.  With  this  difference:  Ancestry  had  be 
queathed  to  her  no  spirit.  She  had  nothing  to  pit 
against  the  flesh  but  her  own  unruly  inclination.  For 
her  the  battle  offered  no  meed  of  victory  in  the  form  of 
chastity  triumphant.  The  "dice  of  God  were  loaded"; 
she  was  striving  against  the  record  of  foolish  or  vicious 
fathers.  And  she  played  so  hard!  At  times,  little 

76 


WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 

heathen  in  spite  of  her  culture,  her  eyes  looked  out  upon 
him  from  the  spring  greenery  with  the  tender  longing 
of  a  mother  deer;  again  they  blazed  with  baffled  fires; 
often  she  threw  herself  down  in  a  passion  of  tears.  So, 
feeding  upon  its  very  privations,  her  distemper  waxed 
until,  one  June  evening,  it  burst  all  bounds. 

Returning  through  late  gloaming  with  his  weekly 
mail,  Carter  came  on  her  holding  her  horse  by  the  trail. 
Her  voice,  low  yet  vibrant,  issued  from  the  gloom. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  trouble  you  for  a  ride, 
Mr.  Carter;  my  saddle-girth  has  burst." 

"Your  hand  is  wet.  It's  blood!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
handed  her  in. 

"I  fell  on  a  sharp  stone.  Will  you  please  tie  this 
handkerchief." 

Bending  to  comply,  he  saw  that  the  wound  was  clean- 
cut,  and  this  may  have  caused  him  to  examine  the  girth 
before  he  threw  the  saddle  on  behind.  Then  he  knew — 
was  certain  as  though  he  had  seen  her  slash  it  with  the 
penknife  that  lay  in  the  scrub  near  by. 

Picking  up  a  stone,  he  pounded  the  severed  edges  on 
the  wheel -tire;  pounded  them  to  a  frazzle  while  she 
looked  on,  her  pupils  dilated  in  the  half  light,  large,  soft, 
black  as  velvet,  intensifying  a  curious  mixture  of  ex 
pectation  and  content.  But  if  she  read  consent  in  the 
pains  he  was  at  with  her  excuse,  alarmed  surprise  dis 
placed  expectation  when,  climbing  in,  he  drove  on  with 
out  a  word. 

She  glanced  up,  tentatively,  once,  twice,  a  dozen 
times  at  the  erect  figure,  but  always  he  stared  ahead. 
Again  and  again  her  scarlet  lips  trembled,  but  she 
choked;  sound  halted  on  its  bitten  thresholds.  Once 
she  touched  his  arm,  but  he  drew  sharply  away  and  his 
hand  rose  and  flung  beaded  sweat  from  his  brow.  So, 
for  a  tumultous  age  it  seemed  to  her,  they  whirled  through 

77 


THE  SETTLER 

the  gathering  night,  rattled  on  until  a  slab  of  light  burst 
through  the  darkness. 

Followed  Leslie's  voice.  "Hullo,  Elinor!  What's  the 
matter?" 

She  stiffened — Carter  felt  her  stiffen  as  in  a  mortal 
rigor — but  she  answered,  in  level  tones:  "Oh,  nothing 
much.  My  saddle-girth  burst  and  Mr.  Carter  kindly 
drove  me  home.  Won't  you  come  in ?  Well — I'm  ever 
so  much  obliged.  Good-night." 

Whirling  homeward  through  the  soft  dusk,  the  tumult 
which  had  confused  Carter  resolved  into  its  elements, 
shame,  chagrin,  wonder,  and  disgust.  Each  swayed 
him  in  turn,  then  faded,  leaving  pity.  Flaring  up  in 
his  cabin,  his  match  revealed  only  concern  on  his  sun 
burned  face.  Taking  a  packet  from  under  the  pillow 
of  his  bunk,  he  unfolded  it  upon  the  table,  exposing  a 
glove,  a  ribbon,  and  some  half-dozen  hairs  that  gleamed, 
threads  of  gold,  under  the  lamplight.  One  by  one  he 
had  gleaned  them,  picking  the  first  from  the  back  of 
Helen's  coat  one  day  coming  out  of  Lone  Tree. 

As  he  leaned  over  the  trove  there  was  no  mawkish 
sentimentality  in  his  look,  rather  it  expressed  wonder, 
wonder  at  himself.  For  his  life  had  not  always  jibed 
with  the  canons.  To  him  in  their  appointed  seasons 
had  come  the  heats  of  youth;  and  if  now  they  had 
merged  in  the  deeper  instinct  which  centres  on  a  single 
mate,  the  change  had  been  sub-conscious.  The  house 
he  had  built,  the  land  he  tilled,  the  herds  he  had  gathered 
about  him  were  all  products  of  this  instinct,  provision 
against  mating,  for  the  one — when  he  should  find  her. 
Yet,  though  found,  he  wondered;  wondered  at  the  pow 
erful  grip  which  that  small  hand  had  wound  into  his 
heart-strings,  that  those  golden  threads  should  be  able 
to  bind  with  the  strength  of  cables. 

He  did  not  puzzle  long.  Presently  concern  again 

78 


WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 

darkened  his  countenance,   and  he   murmured,   "Poor 
little  woman!  poor  little  thing!" 

Could  he  have  seen  her  just  then!  Leslie  was  out 
talking  horse  with  Molyneux  at  the  stables,  so  no  eye 
saw  her  when,  in  the  privacy  of  her  bedroom,  she 
snatched  the  mask  from  her  soul.  At  first  stupefied, 
she  stared  dully  at  familiar  objects  until  her  glance 
touched  a  portrait  of  Helen  on  the  dresser.  That  fired 
her  passion,  started  the  wheels  of  torture.  Dashing 
it  to  the  floor,  she  ground  her  heel  into  the  smiling 
face,  raving  in  passionate  whispers;  then  flinging  at 
length  on  the  bed  she  writhed  like  a  hurt  snake,  struck 
her  clinched  fists  into  the  pillows,  bit  them,  her  own 
hands,  soft  arms.  She  agonized  under  the  scorn  that 
belittles  hell's  fury.  Truly,  out  of  her  indulgences,  her 
pleasant  mental  vices,  the  gods  had  twisted  whips  for 
her  scourging! 

But  if  whips,  as  claimed,  are  deterrents  of  physical 
crimes,  they  stimulate  moral  diseases;  and  whereas, 
previously,  Mrs.  Leslie  had  been  merely  good-naturedly 
frivolous,  she  came  from  under  the  lashes  a  dangerous 
woman — the  more  dangerous  because  there  was  no  out 
ward  indication  of  the  inward  change.  With  Helen, 
whom  Molyneux  brought  up  at  the  next  week-end, 
she  was,  if  anything,  kinder  in  manner,  loving  her  with 
gentle  pats  that  gave  no  suggestion  of  steel  claws  be 
neath  the  velvet.  These,  however,  protruded,  when  the 
girl  borrowed  her  horse  to  pay  a  visit  to  Carter. 

Mrs.  Leslie  and  Molyneux  watched  her  away  from 
the  door.  The  lady  had  plead  a  headache  in  excuse 
for  staying  at  home,  but  her  eyes  were  devoid  of  weary 
languor.  They  had  flashed  as  she  averted  them,  from 
the  mended  saddle-girth.  They  glittered  as  she  now 
turned  them  on  Molyneux. 

*'Calvert,  you  amuse  me." 

79 


THE  SETTLER 

"Why?"  he  asked,  flushing. 

'-Such  devotion  in  that  last  lingering  glance.  It  was 
worthy  of  a  boy  in  a  spasm  of  calf-love  rather  than  the 
dashing  cavalryman  who  has  tried  to  add  my  reputation 
to  the  dozen  that  hang  at  his  belt." 

Molyneux  shrugged  denial.  "  That's  not  true,  Elinor. 
I'm  too  good  a  hunter  to  stalk  the  unattainable." 

She  laughed,  bowing.  "Do  I  sit  on  such  high  peaks 
of  virtue?" 

"Or  of  indifference.  It  amounts  to  the  same.  Any 
way,  I  saw  that  there  was  no  chance  for  me" 

Again  she  laughed.     "What  significance!" 

"Well  —  I'm  not  blind,  as  —  Leslie,  for  instance.  I 
only  wonder." 

"At  what?" 

"Your  taste." 

She  made  a  face  at  Helen's  distant  figure.  "I  might 
return  your  thought.  After  all,  Calvert,  from  our  view 
point,  you  know,  she's  only  a  higher  type  of  native — 
dreadfully  anthropomorphic." 

"Exactly,"  he  answered.  "And  that's  why  I"— 
pausing,  he  substituted  an  adverb  more  in  accordance 
with  Mrs.  Leslie's  ironical  mood  — "like  her.  She's 
fresh,  sound,  and  clean  of  body  and  mind.  Clings  to 
the  ideals  we  chucked  overboard  a  hundred  years  ago — 
lives  up  to  them  with  all  the  vim  and  push  of  her  race. 
She  stirs  me — " 

"As  a  cocktail  does  a  jaded  palate,"  Mrs.  Leslie  inter 
posed.  "And  a  good  enough  reason;  it  will  serve  for 
us  both,  since  you  are  so  frank,  Calvert.  It  is  not  your 
fancy  I  am  laughing  at,  but  your  diffidence,  the  morbid 
respectability  with  which  you  wait  till  it  pleases  her  to 
give  that  which  you  have  been  accustomed  to  command 
from  others.  It  is  quite  touching.  .  .  .  But  why  this 
timidity?  Why  do  you  linger?" 

80 


WHEN  APRIL  SMILED  AGAIN 

"Because  —  "  He  paused,  feeling  it  impossible  to 
yield  the  real  reason  up  to  her  mockery  ;  to  tell  that  the 
girl  had  touched  a  deeper  chord  of  feeling  than  had  ever 
been  reached  by  a  woman's  hand;  that  she  had  broken 
the  cynical  crust  which  had  been  formed  by  years  of 
association  with  the  sophisticated  women  of  the  army 
set.  He  threw  the  onus  back  on  her.  "That's  rich, 
Elinor.  Here,  for  months,  you  have  fenced  her  about; 
given  her  steady  chaperonage;  warned  me  to  tone 
down  to  avoid  giving  offence.  Now  you  ask  why? 
Have  you  forgotten  how  you  rated  me  for  my  violence 
in  pressing  her  under  the  mistletoe?" 

"Pish!"  She  contemplated  him  scornfully.  "I  only 
advised  caution.  And  then  —  •"  She  also  paused;  then, 
thrusting  reserve  to  the  winds,  went  on:  "And  then 
she  hadn't  come  between  me  and  —  my  wish.  Now  she 
has.  And  let  me  tell  you,  my  friend"  —  she  returned  to 
her  "cocktail"  simile  —  "that  while  you  linger,  inhaling 
virginal  aromas,  a  strong  hand  will  slip  in  and  drain  the 
glass.  Will  you  stand  by  and  see  her  sweetness  sipped 
by  another?  Now,  don't  strike  me." 

He  looked  angry  enough  to  do  it,  but  contented  himself 
with  throwing  back  her  question,  "Why  do  you  linger?" 

"Because  I  cannot  drain  my  cup"  —  her  lips  quiver 
ed  thirstily  —  "till  yours  is  out  of  the  way.  He  has  the 
bad  taste  to  prefer  her  spotlessness  to  my  —  " 

"Sophistication?"  he  supplied. 

She  nodded.  "Thanks.  And  he  will  continue  to  do 
so  until  you  take  her  out  of  the  way.  So  —  it  is  up  to 
you,  as  the  boys  say.  I  think,  too,  that  she  suspects 
that  my  interest  is  not  altogether  platonic,  and  as  a 
commodity  enhances  in  value  as  it  is  desired  by  others, 
her  liking  may  be  spurred  into  love.  At  present  she's 
balanced.  Likes  you,  I  know.  Better  strike  while  the 
iron  is  hot." 


THE  SETTLER 

"I  would  if  I  thought  — "  he  began,  then  went  on, 
musingly:  "But  I've  sized  it  up  as  slow-going.  Didn't 
think  she  was  the  kind  that  can  be  rushed." 

Mrs.  Leslie  snorted  her  disdain.  "You?  With  all 
your  experience!  To  set  her  on  a  pinnacle!  How  long 
before  you  men  will  learn  that  we  would  rather  be  taken 
down  and  be  hugged.  While  the  saint  worships  at  the 
shrine  the  sinner  steals  the  image.  I  warrant  you  my 
big  American  won't  waste  any  time  on  his  knees.  How 
ever,  I've  warned — here  comes  Fred  from  the  stables." 

That  was  not  the  end  of  their  talk.  It  recurred  at 
every  opportunity;  and  by  the  time  Helen  returned 
Molyneux  was  persuaded  against  his  better  judgment 
that  he  had  gone  too  easily  about  his  wooing. 

"What  thou  doest,  do  quickly,"  she  whispered,  as  he 
went  out  to  hitch  to  take  Helen  home.  And  as  they 
drove  away  she  gazed  long  after  them  from  the  door. 

What  was  she  thinking?  Given  a  woman  of  firmer 
texture,  one  whose  acts  flowed  from  steady  impulses,  in 
turn  the  effects  of  settled  character,  thought  may  be 
guessed.  But  Mrs.  Leslie's  light  nature  veered  to  every 
wind  of  passion.  She  could  not  even  hate  consistently. 
Was  she  swayed  altogether  by  revenge,  or,  as  hinted  by 
her  talk  with  Molyneux,  was  hope  beginning  to  rise  from 
the  ashes  of  despair? 


IX 

THE    DEVIL 

IF,  as  said,  the  devil  can  quote  Scripture  for  his  own 
purposes,  it  does  not  follow  that  said  purposes  are 
always  fulfilled. 

Molyneux  had  better  have  followed  his  intuition  and 
"gone  slowly."  But  if,  in  brains  and  capacity,  he  tow 
ered  above  the  average  of  his  remittance-fellows,  the 
taint  of  his  ancient  blood  yet  showed  in  a  pliability  to 
suggestion,  a  childish  eagerness  to  snatch  unripe  fruit. 
Whereas,  by  a  quiet  apology,  he  had  long  ago  repaired 
his  error  in  the  Christmas  games,  he  must  now  commit 
greater  foolishness. 

Consciously  and  unconsciously,  in  varying  degrees, 
Helen  aided  his  blundering.  She  could  not  help  look 
ing  her  prettiest.  But  her  delicacies  of  cream  and  rose, 
the  tender  mouth,  the  bosom  heaving  under  its  lace, 
did  not  require  the  accentuation  of  coquetry.  It  was 
the  healthy  coquetry  of  the  young  animal,  to  be  sure, 
unconscious,  as  much  as  can  be.  She  need  not,  how 
ever,  have  authorized  his  gallantries  with  laugh  and 
smile — would  not,  had  she  realized  his  limitations,  his 
confused  morality,  subordinance  to  passion,  emotional 
irresponsibility. 

Afterwards  she  had  but  a  confused  notion  how  the 
thing  came  to  pass.  They  laughed,  chatted,  jested, 
while  the  tenderness  in  his  manner  bordered  more  and 
more  on  the  familiar.  He  had  been  telling  her  of  the 

83 


THE  SETTLER 

strange  marriage  custom  of  an  Afghan  tribe  and  had 
asked  how  she  would  like  such  a  forceful  wooing. 

"I  think,"  she  answered,  "that  a  strain  of  the  primi 
tive  inheres  in  our  most  cultured  women.  I'm  sure  I 
could  never  love  a  man  who  was  not  my  master." 

She  spoke  thoughtfully,  considering  the  proposition 
in  the  abstract;  but  he,  in  his  blind  folly,  interpreted 
concretely.  In  the  sudden  lighting  of  his  face  she  read 
her  mistake.  But  before  she  could  put  out  a  hand  in 
protest,  his  arms  were  about  her,  his  searching  lips 
smothered  her  cry.  She  fought  wildly,  spent  her 
strength  in  a  desperate  effort,  then  capitulated  —  lay, 
panting,  while  he  fed  on  her  face,  neck,  hair,  her  lips. 
And  it  was  well  she  did.  Prolonged  resistance  would 
only  have  provoked  him  to  freer  license.  As  it  was, 
mistaking  quiescence  for  acquiescence,  he  presently  held 
her  off  that  his  hot  eyes  might  share  the  spoil. 

She  now  fully  realized  her  danger.  His  expression, 
the  glassy  look  of  his  eyes  filled  her  with  repulsion,  but 
she  summoned  to  her  aid  all  the  craft  that  centuries  of 
dire  need  have  bred  in  her  race.  She  smiled  up  in  his 
face,  rather  a  pallid  smile,  but  sufficient  for  his  fooling. 
A  playful  hand  held  him  back  from  another  kiss. 

"You  are  very  rough,"  she  whispered. 

"Consider  the  provocation,"  he  answered,  dodging  the 
hand. 

She  tried  not  to  shrink.  "You  upset  me,"  she  mur 
mured.  "I  am  quite  faint.  Is  there  any  water  near 
by?" 

She  had  noticed  a  slough  ahead.  Driving  into  it,  he 
bent  over  and  wet  her  handkerchief. 

"Now  if  I  could  only  drink." 

He  stepped  ankle-deep  into  the  water.  "Out  of  my 
hands."  But  as  he  stooped,  with  concave  palms,  there 
came  a  rattle  behind  him. 

84 


THE  DEVIL 

Uttering  an  oath,  he  sprang — too  late.  As  he  waded 
to  dry  land  she  swung  the  ponies  in  a  wide  circle  and 
reined  in  about  fifty  yards  away.  While  he  looked 
sheepishly  on,  she  wiped  her  face  with  the  kerchief, 
rubbed  and  scrubbed  till  the  skin  shone  red  where  his 
lips  had  touched,  then  tossed  the  kerchief  towards  him 
and  drove  on. 

A  prey  to  remorse,  shame,  he  stood  gazing  after. 
All  said,  a  man's  ideals  are  formed  by  the  people  about 
him.  A  virtuous  woman,  a  leal  friend,  raise  his  stand 
ard  for  the  race;  and  just  then  Molyneux  would  have 
given  his  life  to  place  himself  in  the  friendly  relation 
that  obtained  between  them  a  half-hour  ago. 

But  he  could  not.  Nor  could  all  of  Helen's  vigorous 
rubbing  remove  the  memory  of  those  shameful  kisses. 
Her  bitten  lips  were  scarlet  when,  a  quarter-hour  later, 
she  rattled  up  to  Carter's  shanty;  her  eyes  were  heavy 
with  unshed  tears. 

Now  here  was  a  first-class  opportunity  for  him  to  play 
the  fool.  An  untimely  question,  a  little  idiotic  sympa 
thy  would  have  put  him  in  a  worse  case  with  her  than 
Molyneux.  But  though  inwardly  perturbed,  shaking 
with  anxiety,  he  kept  a  grip  on  himself. 

"Such  reckless  driving!"  he  exclaimed,  harking  back 
to  her  own  words  on  that  first  drive  from  Lone  Tree. 
Then  solemnly  surveying  Molyneux's  hat,  which  was 
perched  funnily  on  the  seat  beside  her,  he  went  on, 
"Looks  like  you've  lost  a  passenger." 

His  twinkle  removed  the  tension.  Looking  down  on 
the  hat,  she  laughed;  and  if,  a  minute  later,  she  cried, 
the  tears  that  wet  his  shoulder  were  not  cast  against  him. 

"If  you  will  return  the  ponies,"  she  said,  when  her 
cry  was  out — she  had  already  told  him  enough  to  ex 
plain  the  situation — "I'll  stay  here  till  you  come  back 
and  then  you  may  drive  me  home — if  you  will?" 

7  85 


THE  SETTLER 

"And  I'll  find  him?"  She  laughed  at  his  comical 
accent  as  he  intended  she  should. 

"About  three  miles  back/' 

"Any  message?" 

She  sensed  the  menace.  "Oh  no!  If  you  quarrel, 
I  '11  never,  never  forgive  you.  Now,  please ! ' '  She  placed 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"All  right,"  he  agreed,  and,  five  minutes  later  drove 
off  with  the  Devil  pony  in  leash  behind. 

From  afar  Molyneux  saw  him  coming  and  braced 
for  the  encounter,  but  Carter  had  gotten  himself  well 
in  hand.  "Miss  Morrill,"  he  said,  "is  real  sorry  she 
couldn't  hold  the  ponies.  But,  Lordy,  man,  you  oughtn't 
to  have  gone  picking  flowers." 

"He's  lying!"  Molyneux  thought,  but  followed  the 
lead.  "Yes,  it  was  careless.  But,  you  know,  it  is  al 
ways  the  unexpected  that  happens." 

"You're  dead  right  there." 

The  significance  caused  Molyneux  to  redden;  but  he 
tried  to  carry  it  off  easily.  "And  I'm  much  obliged  to 
you,  Mr.  Carter.  Can't  I  drive  you  home?" 

Turning  from  cinching  his  saddle,  Carter  regarded 
him  steadily.  "Obliged  to  you,  sir.  I'm  a  bit  partic 
ular  in  my  choice  of  company." 

The  contempt  stung  Molyneux  to  retort:  "You  are 
plain-spoken,  but  I'm  told  the  trait  is  common  in  Amer 
icans.  Fortunately  for  us  outsiders,  your  women  are 
more  complaisant." 

It  only  led  him  deeper.  Giving  a  last  vicious  tug  at 
the  cinch,  Carter  vaulted  into  the  saddle.  "Yes,"  he 
shot  back,  as  he  arranged  his  bridle,  "they  make  a 
mistake  now  and  then,  but  it  don't  take  'em  long  to 
find  it  out."  And  he  galloped  away  with  easy  honors. 

Reining  in  at  his  own  door  half  an  hour  later,  he 
regarded  with  astonishment  a  transformation  which  had 

86 


THE  DEVIL 

occurred  in  his  absence.  Instead  of  the  woman,  beau 
tiful  in  her  angry  tears,  a  demure  girl  came  out  to  meet 
him.  While  he  was  gone  she  had  bathed  her  red  eyes, 
then,  to  relieve  a  headache,  had  let  down  her  hair  and 
braided  it  into  a  plait  of  solid  gold.  Thick  as  Carter's 
wrist,  it  hung  so  low  that,  obedient  to  his  admiring  sug 
gestion,  she  easily  knitted  it  about  her  waist. 

"You  look,"  he  said,  "more  like  school -girl  than 
school-marm." 

With  that  simple  coiffure  displaying  the  girlish  line 
of  her  head  and  neck,  she  might,  indeed,  have  easily 
passed  for  eighteen.  It  accentuated  a  wee  tip-tilt  of 
her  pretty  nose,  a  leaning  to  the  retrousse  that  had  been 
the  greatest  trial  of  her  youth  and  still  caused  her  occa 
sional  qualms.  Could  she  have  realized  the  piquancy 
it  lent  to  features  that,  otherwise,  had  been  too  regular 
or  have  known  the  sensation  it  caused  her  companion 
as  he  looked  down  on  it  and  her  eyelashes  fluttering  up 
from  eyes  that  were  wide  and  grave  with  question. 

One  glance  reassured  her.  His  unruffled  calm,  the 
ironic  humor  of  his  mouth,  all  expressed  his  mastership 
of  the  late  situation.  Satisfied,  she  mounted  beside  him 
when  he  had  hitched  the  ponies  and  settled  in  against 
him  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Not  that  she  had  so  easily 
forgotten  her  late  trouble.  The  injured  droop  of  her 
mouth,  the  serious  face  moved  him  to  vast  sympathy 
and  anger.  He  longed  to  smooth  the  knit  brow  with 
kisses,  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  soothe  her  as  a  little 
child.  For  a  second  time  that  day  her  mouth  stood  in 
hazard,  but,  bracing  himself  against  temptation,  he  tried 
to  wean  her  from  her  brooding  by  ways  that  were  safer 
if  less  sweet. 

"Any  one,"  he  said,  twinkling  down  upon  her,  "would 
think  you'd  lost  your  best  friend — " 

"Instead  of  my  worst,"  she  anticipated. 

37 


THE  SETTLER 

"Glad  you  put  it  that  way."  He  nodded  his  satisfac 
tion.  "And  since  you  do,  why  waste  regrets?  Jest 
wipe  him  clean  off  your  books." 

"It  is  bitter  to  learn  that  you  have  been  deceived," 
she  answered.  "More  bitter  to  feel  yourself  misread. 
Most  bitter" — her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper — '"to 
learn  it  in  such  a  shameful  way." 

He  did  not  say,  "I  warned  you."  Only  his  big  brown 
hand  closed  on  hers  with  a  sympathetic  squeeze  that 
almost  expelled  the  pain  in  her  heart.  She  did  not 
withdraw  it;  rather  she  drew  in  closer,  and  thus,  hand 
in  hand,  they  rattled  south  over  the  vast  green  prai 
ries  which  now  were  all  shotten  with  the  iridescence 
of  myriad  flowers.  The  trail  wound  through  seas  of 
daisies,  bluebells,  white  tuft.  Slender  golden-rod  trem 
bled  in  the  breeze;  dandelions  and  tiger-lilies  flaunted 
their  golden  beauty  under  turquoise  skies.  It  was, 
indeed,  difficult  to  remain  sad  with  such  company  in 
such  surroundings;  for  not  content  with  mute  sympa 
thy,  he  strove  to  divert  her  thought  by  talk  of  the 
animals  or  plants  which  they  saw  or  passed,  astonished 
her  with  his  wide  knowledge  of  curious  traits  in  their 
nature  or  history.  So,  gliding  from  subject  to  subject, 
he  weaned  her  from  her  trouble,  and  so,  by  easy  stages, 
came  to  speaking  of  himself,  modestly  introducing  the 
subject  with  a  letter. 

It  was  from  the  office  of  the  traffic  manager  of  the 
trunk  line  acknowledging  a  bid  for  tie  and  trestle  con 
tracts  for  the  projected  branch  through  Silver  Creek. 
While  Cummings,  Hines,  and  their  confreres  were  ful 
minating  against  the  railroad  pantheon,  Carter  had 
ridden  over  the  spruce  ranges  of  the  Riding  Mountains, 
had  secured  options  on  cutting  permits  from  the  provin 
cial  government,  had  driven  down  the  old  survey,  and 
then  submitted  an  estimate  which  caused  the  construc- 

88 


THE  DEVIL 

tion  department  of  the  railway  to  gasp  its  astonish 
ment. 

The  chief  engineer  even  carried  the  estimate  to  the 
traffic  manager.  "Ties  and  timbers,  this  fellow  Carter 
comes  within  a  few  thousand  feet  of  old  Sawyer's  esti 
mate,"  he  said.  "Moreover,  he  is  ready  to  deliver  the 
goods.  Gives  references  to  the  Bank  of  America,  which 
is  to  finance  his  enterprise.  Who  is  he?" 

One  would  hardly  expect  the  traffic  manager  to  have 
remembered,  but  he  had;  and  thus  it  came  about  that 
the  postscript  of  the  letter  was  in  his  own  big  sprawl. 
He  regretted  the  fact  that  construction  had  been  put 
off  for  another  year,  "but,"  he  added,  "I  have  placed 
your  bid  on  my  own  files  and  shall  see  that  it  receives  the 
earliest  consideration  when  we  are  ready  for  construction." 

Helen  exclaimed  her  satisfaction.  "I'm  so  glad.  I 
never  knew  that  —  you  could  do  this  kind  of  work. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  I'm  so  interested.  Will  it 
be  a  large  contract?" 

Her  eyes  testified  to  her  words,  and  as,  obedient  to 
her  wish,  he  ran  on  giving  details,  they  grew  larger  and 
more  luminous.  A  touch  of  awe  dwelt  in  their  hazel 
depths.  Feeling  always  the  attraction  of  his  fine  phy 
sique,  respecting  his  strength  of  will,  clean  character, 
he  now  commanded  her  admiration  on  another  score. 
Was  he  not  proving  himself  "fit"  in  the  iron  struggle  of 
an  economic  age?  And  she,  delicate  bloom,  crowning' 
bud  of  the  tree  of  evolution,  being  yet  subject  to  the 
law  that,  of  old,  governed  the  cave  maiden  in  her  choice 
of  a  mate,  felt  the  full  force  of  this  last  expression  of 
his  power. 

As  never  before,  she  responded  to  his  thought  and 
feeling.  When,  after  a  sudden  lurch,  he  left  his  sup 
porting  arm  on  the  rail  across  her  waist,  she  did  not 
draw  away;  nay,  she  yielded  to  a  luxurious  sense  of 

89 


THE  SETTLER 

protection  and  power,  leaning  in  against  his  shoulder. 
That  day  all  things  had  conspired  in  his  favor — 'even 
her  pique  at  Molyneux — and  now  the  rapid  movement, 
caressing  sweep  of  the  wind,  riot  of  color  and  sunlight, 
all  helped  to  influence  her  judgment  in  a  situation  that 
was  rapidly  approaching. 

It  lay,  the  situation,  in  a  deep  pool,  ten  feet  below 
the  bank  of  Silver  Creek.  As  before  noted,  Death  and 
the  Devil,  those  lively  ponies,  were,  as  Carter  put  it, 
"worth  watching"  any  and  all  the  time  on  the  dead 
level,  and  the  fact  that  he  held  a  loose  line  on  them 
running  down  trail  into  the  valley  proved  how  very, 
very  far  he  had  departed  from  his  usual  imperturbable 
mood.  Small  wonder,  for  the  hazel  glances  he  had 
sustained  this  last  hour  would  have  upset  the  coolest 
head.  But  if  his  condition  was  perfectly  natural,  so 
also  was  the  innate  deviltry  that  caused  the  ponies  to 
bolt  the  trail  and  plunge  over  the  aforesaid  bank. 

Helen  could  never  tell  just  how  it  happened.  After 
two  seconds'  furious  bumping,  she  felt  herself  lifted 
bodily.  Followed  a  crash  as  they  fell.  That  was  the 
impact  of  the  buggy  wheel  with  Carter's  head.  The 
arms  loosened  as  she  took  the  icy  plunge,  then  came  a 
half-minute's  suffocating  struggle  while  the  current  was 
carrying  her  out  to  the  shallows.  Wet,  draggled,  she 
stumbled  shoreward;  then,  as  the  water  cleared  out  of 
her  eyes,  she  turned  and  plunged  wildly  back.  Face 
downward,  Carter  was  floating  over  a  two-foot  shallow 
and  another  second  would  have  carried  him  into  a  longer 
and  deeper  pool. 

As  for  him,  returning  consciousness  brought  him  sen 
sations  of  something  soft  under  his  splitting  head — 
that  was  Helen's  bosom;  of  arms  about  his  neck; 
lips  that  wildly  kissed  his  and  which  opened  with  a 
glad  cry  when  he  moved. 

90 


THE  DEVIL 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  were  dead!" 

For  one  blissful  moment  she  allowed  him  to  gaze  in 
at  the  clear  windows  of  her  soul ;  then  remembering  the 
unusual  but  effective  restorative  she  had  used  in  the 
case,  she  flamed  out  in  sudden  colors,  the  banners  of 
discovered  love.  Never  was  maid  in  such  a  predica 
ment!  Was  it  fair  to  expect  that  she  would  let  fall  a 
head  that  had  been  damaged  in  her  cause?  She  could 
only  wait  until,  having  fed  his  eyes  full  on  her  sweet 
distress,  he  reached  up  and  pulled  her  blushing  face 
down  upon  his  own.  The  sun,  the  wind,  the  rippling 
water  alone  witnessed  her  surrender.  After  a  while  a 
grizzled  badger  peered  at  them  from  his  hole,  pronounced 
them  harmless,  and  so  came  forth  upon  his  errands.  A 
colony  of  gophers  laid  aside  serious  business  to  note, 
heads  askew,  loves  that  differed  so  little  from  their  own. 
A  robin  cried  shame  upon  them  from  a  willow  near  by. 
But  they  were  not  ashamed.  An  hour  slid  by  without 
either  thinking  of  such  sub-lunary  matters  as  damaged 
heads  or  wet  clothing;  at  the  end  of  which  Death  and 
the  Devil,  having  accomplished  the  complete  destruc 
tion  of  the  buck-board,  came  back  to  look  for  their 
master — -probably  associating  him  with  the  evening  feed 
of  oats — and  fell  to  cropping  the  grass  along  the  creek. 

Then  she  spoke,  softly,  blushing  again.  "You  must 
think  me  shameless,  but — I  did — I  really  thought  you 
were  dead." 

"Ain't  you  glad  I'm  not?"  She  never  noticed  the 
"ain't,"  this  young  lady  who  had  originally  sized  him 
as  an  underbred  person. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  he  mightily  appreciated  the 
sudden  tightening  of  her  arms.  "But  what  must  you 
think  of  me?" 

He  told  all  —  of  his  resolution  the  moment  he  saw 
her  on  the  Lone  Tree  platform;  of  his  hope,  fears,  dark 


THE  SETTLER 

despair,  the  hell  he  had  suffered  on  Molyneux's  account. 
A  soft  hand  cut  short  this  last  revelation,  and  immedi 
ately  they  fell  again  into  one  of  love's  deep  silences,  an 
eloquent  pause  that  endured  until  the  westering  sun 
threw  long  shadows  across  the  creek.  Then,  rising,  he 
caught  the  ponies  and  arranged  saddles  with  blankets 
and  straps  from  the  broken  harness,  while  she  looked 
on  with  soft  attention. 

Mounted,  they  paused  and  looked  back  at  the  stream, 
ruby  red  under  the  dying  sun,  the  clay  bank,  the  border 
ing  willows,  then  they  kissed  each  other  soberly  and 
rode  on.  Dusk  was  blanketing  the  prairies  when  they 
drew  up  at  Flynn's  cabin,  yet  it  was  not  too  dark  for 
Mrs.  Flynn's  sharp  eyes  to  pick  their  secret. 

"It's  the  new  school-ma'am  ye'll  need  to  be  looking 
for,"  she  told  Flynn.  "Why?  Man,  didn't  ye  see  him 
look  at  her,  an*  her  that  lovely  red,  her  eyes  pretty  as  a 
mother  deer's,  an'  her  voice  soft  an*  cooing  as  a  (Jove's. 
Flynn,  Flynn!  ye've  forgotten  your  own  courting." 

One  fine  morning,  two  months  later,  Molyneux's  dri 
vers  spun  out  of  his  stable  enclosure  and  rattled  south 
at  a  pace  that  did  not  keep  up  with  their  driver's  impa 
tience. 

These  two  months  had  certainly  been  the  unhappiest 
of  his  life.  A  man's  opinions,  philosophy,  must,  if  they 
have  vitality  at  all,  be  formed  upon  the  actions  of  those 
about  him,  upon  the  phenomena  which  life  presents  to 
his  reason.  This,  however,  does  not  altogether  annul 
the  force  of  those  ideals  of  conduct  for  himself  and 
others  which  were  learned  at  his  mother's  knee.  Al 
ways  they  persist.  Granted  that  loose  life  may  smother 
the  plant  so  that  it  produces  neither  fruit  nor  leafage, 
yet  the  germ  is  there — the  assurety  that  beyond  the 
rotten  pale  of  fast  society  lies  a  fair  land  where  purity, 

92 


THE  DEVIL 

chastity,  goodness,  the  virtues  one  firmly  incarnates  in 
the  person  of  mother,  sister,  or  girl  friend,  do  grow  and 
flourish.  Under  the  foulness  of  the  most  determined 
roue  lies  the  ineradicable  belief  that  had  Lot  sought 
righteousness  among  the  women  of  Sodom  that  wicked 
city  had  never  been  destroyed.  One  clean,  wholesome 
girl  will  shake  a  man's  faith  in  baseness,  torture  him 
with  a  vivid  sense  of  his  own  backslidings-,  and  now 
that  passion's  scales  were  fallen  from  his  eyes,  Molyneux 
appreciated  at  their  full  worth  the  naive  mixture  of 
innocence  and  womanly  wisdom,  the  health,  strength, 
and  wholesomeness  of  character  that  set  Helen  apart 
from  his  light  acquaintance. 

"Fool!  fool!"  he  had  told  himself  again  and  again. 
"She  is  worthy  of  a  king — if  one  could  be  found  worthy 
of  her.  And  you  had  a  fair  chance!  Oh,  you  fool!" 

Nor  had  he  failed  to  write  her  a  letter  of  apology.  He 
had  done  that  in  the  first  agonies  of  repentance,  six  weeks 
ago,  and,  receiving  no  answer,  had  taken  the  ensuing 
weeks  to  screw  his  courage  to  the  point  of  asking  pardon 
in  person.  But  now  that  it  was  there  he  was  possessed 
of  a  wild  exhilaration  that  took  no  thought  of  refusal. 
She  could  hardly  fail  to  pardon  a  suppliant  for  crimes 
that  were  instigated  by  her  own  beauty,  and  one  so  be 
comingly  repentant!  Full  of  the  consciousness  of  his 
own  virtuous  intention,  it  was  quite  easy  for  him  to 
credit  Helen  with  the  magnanimity  that  would  be  its 
reciprocal  feeling;  and  this  once  established,  himself 
pardoned  in  thought,  he  passed  to  day-dreams.  Her 
smile,  the  sweet  tilt  of  her  pretty  nose,  her  glory  of 
golden  hair,  her  every  physical  and  mental  charm,  passed 
in  mental  review,  beguiling  the  tedium  of  the  trail  till 
the  school-house  thrust  up  over  the  horizon. 

Then  his  mood  changed.  Its  squat,  obtrusive  mate 
riality  thrust  into  his  consciousness,  shattering  the  filmy 

93 


THE  SETTLER 

substance  of  his  dreams,  and  as  he  noticed  the  closed 
windows,  shut  door,  doubt  replaced  elation,  depression, 
the  black  antithesis  of  his  late  mood,  settled  down  upon 
him. 

As  he  sat  staring  a  voice  hailed  him.  "Been  riding 
ahint  of  you  this  half-hour,  but  you  never  looked  back. 
Fine  haying  weather,  ain't  it?" 

Startled,  Molyneux  turned  to  find  Jed  Hines  surveying 
him  with  an  irritating  smile.  His  expression  plainly  re 
vealed  that  not  only  did  he  know  Molyneux's  errand,  but 
that  he  was  viewing  it  under  the  light  of  humorous  secret 
knowledge.  Restraining  an  impulse  to  remodel  the  ex 
pression,  he  said,  nonchalantly  as  he  could:  "What  is  the 
matter  here  ?  School  closed  ?" 

Hines  nodded.  He  had  all  the  Canadian's  traditional 
hate  of  the  remittance-man;  Molyneux,  in  especial,  he 
detested,  because,  perhaps  by  his  superior  shrewdness, 
he  gave  less  cause  for  contempt  than  the  race  in  general. 
That  he  had  paused  to  speak  was  proof  sufficient  that  he 
had  unpleasant  news.  He  would,  however,  take  his  own 
time  in  delivering  it — prolong  the  torture  to  the  limit. 

"Midsummer  holidays,"  he  laconically  answered. 

Molyneux  ignored  his  curtness.  "Miss  Morrill  at 
Glaves's  place,  do  you  know?" 

Jed's  grin  widened.     "You  hain't  heard,  then?" 

"Heard  what?" 

Jed  gazed  off  and  away  over  the  prairies.  "No,  you 
won't  find  her  at  Glaves's." 

How  Molyneux  longed  to  spoil  the  grin.  But  a  deadly 
anxiety  constrained  him.  "Where  is  she,  then?" 

"Nowheres  around  here." 

"Do  you  know?" 

"You  bet!"  The  grin  gave  place  to  malignant  satis 
faction.  "Yes,  I  know — that  is,  I  kin  guess,  though  1 
wouldn't  if  I  thought  it  would  do  you  any  good.  As  it 

94 


THE  DEVIL 

won't —  Let  me  see — she  was  married  a  week  ago  by 
the  Roman  priest.  Jedging  by  averages,  I  reckon  as 
you  orter  find  her  in  Carter's  arms." 

If  he  had  expected  his  news  to  produce  a  disagreeable 
impression  he  was  not  disappointed,  for  its  visible  mani 
festation  landed  full  in  his  face,  and  he  dropped  flat  on 
his  shoulders.  Not  lacking  a  certain  wolf  courage,  primi 
tive  ferocity  of  the  cornered  rat,  he  sprang  up,  lunged  at 
Molyneux,  and  went  down  a  second  time.  Then  he  stay 
ed,  watching  until  the  other  had  jumped  into  his  buggy 
and  driven  away. 

"I  never  saw  the  devil!"  he  muttered,  shaking  his  fist, 
"but  your  face,  jes'  then,  came  mighty  near  the  preacher's 
description." 


FRICTION 

ONCE  upon  a  time  a  man  wrote  a  book  that  proved 
how  easily  a  cultured  Eastern  girl  might  fall  in 
love  with  and  marry  a  Western  cow-boy.  It  was  a 
beautiful  story,  about  people  who  were  beautiful  or 
picturesque  according  as  they  were  good  or  bad,  but  it 
ended  just  where,  in  real  life,  stories  begin.  After  the 
manner  of  fairy  tales,  the  author  assured  us  that  the 
girl  and  the  cow-boy  lived  happily  ever  after.  Now  I 
wonder  if  they  did  ? 

A  year  later  a  big  bull-fly  thudded  at  the  screen  door 
of  Carter's  cabin  in  vain  efforts  to  enter  and  take  toll  of 
Helen's  white  flesh.  By  the  gentlemen  who  ordain  the 
calendar,  a  year  is  given  as  a  space  of  time  between 
points  that  are  fixed,  immutable  as  the  stars.  Sensible 
folk  know  better.  Years  vary — are  long  or  short  accord 
ing  to  the  number,  breadth,  and  depth  of  the  experiences 
their  space  covers.  This  year  had  marked  Helen.  She 
was  fuller  lipped,  rounder,  enveloped  by  the  sensuous 
softness  of  young  wifehood.  Sitting  at  table  with  her 
white  blouse  tucked  in  at  the  neck  for  coolness,  she  had 
never  looked  prettier.  ,  But  granting  these  attributes  of 
her  changed  condition,  a  keen  observer  would  have 
missed  that  gentle  brooding,  ripe  fruit  of  content  which 
exhales  from  the  perfectly  mated  woman.  As,  time  and 
again,  her  glance  touched  Carter,  sitting  opposite,  she 
would  sigh,  ever  so  gently,  yet  sigh;  the  direction  of  her 

96 


FRICTION 

glance  told  also  that  her  discontent  was  associated  in 
some  way  with  his  shirt-sleeves,  rolled  to  the  elbow,  and 
his  original  methods  in  the  use  of  his  knife  and  fork. 
Grasping  these  implements  within  an  inch  of  their 
points,  he  certainly  secured  a  mighty  leverage,  yet  un 
doubtedly  lost  in  grace  what  he  secured  in  power,  besides 
pre-empting  more  elbow-room  than  could  be  accorded  to 
one  person  at  a  dinner-party. 

"Tut!  tut!"  she  observed,  timidly,  after  tentative 
observation. 

"Oh,  shore!  There  I  go  again!"  His  quick  answer 
and  the  celerity  with  which  his  hands  crawfished  back 
to  the  handles  told  of  many  corrections;  yet  five  min 
utes  later  they  had  stolen  out  once  more  to  the  old  fa 
miliar  grip. 

She  sighed  again.  It  was  not  that  she  had  wished 
to  hobble  her  frontiersman,  to  harness  him  to  the  con 
ventions.  Her  feeling  flowed  from  a  larger  source. 
Believing  him  big  of  brain  and  soul  as  of  body,  she 
would  have  had  him  perfect  in  small  things  as  he  was 
great  in  large,  that  her  ideal  should  be  so  filled  and 
rounded  out  as  to  leave  no  room  for  sighs.  To  this  end 
she  had,  from  the  first,  attempted  small  polishments, 
which  he  had  received  with  whimsical  good-humor  that 
took  no  thought  of  how  vital  the  matter  was  with  her. 
Had  he  realized  this  he  might  have  made  a  determined 
effort  instead  of  a  slack  practice  which  flows  from  easy 
complaisance;  but,  not  realizing  it,  he  made  no  head 
way.  In  these  last  months  she  had  gained  insight  into 
that  philosophical  axiom:  It  is  easier  to  make  over  a 
dozen  lovers  than  one  husband.  Unlike  the  girl  in  the 
aforesaid  beautiful  story,  she  had  begun  reconstruction 
at  the  wrong  side  of  the  knot. 

Not  that  this  unwelcome  truth  would  or  could,  of 
itself,  have  affected  her  love  in  quality  or  quantity. 

97 


THE  SETTLER 

At  times  she  agonized  remorsefully  over  her  tendency 
to  criticism,  tutoring  herself  to  look  only  for  the  large 
things  of  character.  Again,  when,  of  nights,  she  would 
slip  to  his  arms  for  a  delightful  hour  before  retiring,  she 
would  wonder  at  herself:  every  last  vestige  of  discon 
tent  evaporated  with  her  murmured 'sigh  of  perfect  hap 
piness.  These  were  great  moments  for  both.  Lying 
so,  she  would  look  up  in  his  bronzed  face  and  listen 
while,  in  his  big  way,  he  talked  and  planned,  unrolling 
the  scroll  of  their  future — listen  patiently  until  he  be 
came  too  absorbed,  when  she  would  interrupt  with  some 
kittenish  trick  to  draw  him  back  into  the  delightful 
present.  Pretty  little  tricks,  loving  little  tricks,  that 
one  would  never  have  dreamed  lay  hidden  under  the 
exterior  of  the  staid  young  school-ma'am. 

But  these,  after  all,  were  moods,  and  there  had  been 
other  and  real  cause  of  discontent.  First,  the  railway 
gods  had  again  broken  faith  with  the  settlers,  and  every 
cent  that  Carter  could  raise  or  borrow  had  been  required 
to  meet  rents  on  his  timber  concessions.  Though  not  in 
actual  want,  they  had  had  to  trim  expenses,  reduce  their 
living  to  the  settler  scale.  Having  all  of  a  pretty 
woman's  natural  love  of  finery,  Helen  could  see  no  way 
of  restoring  her  depleted  wardrobe.  Moreover,  there  was 
the  choring,  washing,  milking  of  cows,  feeding  of  calves, 
inseparable  from  pioneer  settler  life — a  burden  that  was 
not  a  whit  the  less  toilsome  because  self-assumed. 

Carter  would  have  spared  her  all  that — was,  indeed, 
angry  when,  coming  in  late  one  night,  he  caught  her 
toiling  at  the  milking.  "I  didn't  know  it  was  so  hard," 
she  pleaded,  holding  up  her  swollen  wrists.  "But  I 
couldn't  bear  to  see  you  come  in,  tired,  at  dark,  then  go 
on  with  the  chores  while  I  sat  in  the  house." 

He  had  made  her  promise  not  to  do  it  again.  But 
she  did,  and  his  protests,  vigorous  at  first,  slackened, 


FRICTION 

until,  finally,  the  choring  had  come  to  be  regarded  as 
hers  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Even  the  climate  was  against  her,  conspiring  against 
her  peace  of  body  if  not  of  mind.  The  previous  winter 
had  been  the  bitterest  in  a  score  of  years,  temperatures 
ranging  from  forty  below  zero,  with  a  yard  of  snow  on 
the  level,  fifty-foot  drifts  in  the  bluffs,  and  hundred-mile 
winds  to  drive  cold  and  snow  through  the  thickest  of 
log  walls.  For  days  she  had  sat  in  her  furs  by  the  red- 
hot  stove,  while  the  blizzard  roared  about  the  cabin, 
walling  it  in  fleecy  snows — sat  listening  to  the  agonized 
shout  of  wind-blown  trees,  the  squeal  of  poplar  brake, 
the  smash  of  rent  branches,  the  thunderous  storm  voice 
that  was  spaced  only  by  distant  crashes  as  the  lords  of 
the  forest  went  down  to  stiff  ends.  North,  south,  east, 
west  had  veered  these  terrible  winds,  freighting  always 
their  inexhaustible  snows.  The  trails  were  blown  from 
earth's  face;  solitary  blotch,  their  cabin  rose  like  a  reef 
from  an  ocean  of  whiteness;  and  they,  castaways,  were 
practically  divorced  for  days,  and  sometimes  weeks,  from 
all  communication  with  their  kind.  Hardly  less  terrible 
had  been  the  calms,  the  vast  frozen  silences  as  of  inter 
planetary  space  that  followed  the  blizzard,  ruling  the 
snowy  steppes.  They  filled  her  with  a  terrifying  sense 
of  the  illimitable,  those  silences,  vivid  as  though  she,  a 
lonely  soul,  were  travelling  through  vast  voids  of  time 
and  space.  She  shrank  under  them,  afraid. 

Followed  a  mosquito  year  in  a  mosquito  country. 
Fattened  by  the  heavy  snows,  stagnant  sloughs  held 
water  till  late  in  the  summer  and  so  bred  the  pests  by 
myriads  of  myriads.  Of  nights  the  tortured  air  whined 
of  them.  By  day  their  cattle  hung  about  the  corrals, 
cropping  the  grass  down  to  the  dust,  or  if  they  did 
wander  farther  afield,  came  galloping  madly  back  to  the 
smudges.  For  two  months  any  kind  of  travel  had  been 

99 


THE  SETTLER 

impossible;  clouds  of  the  pests  would  settle  on  hands, 
face,  neck  quicker  than  one  could  wipe  them  off. 
Milking  and  choring  had  to  be  done  under  cover  of  a 
thick  reek  to  an  accompaniment  of  lashing  tails,  with 
frequent  and  irritating  catastrophes  in  the  way  of  over 
turned  pails.  The  acrid  odor  of  smoke  clung  to  every 
thing — hair,  clothing,  flesh;  the  cabin  was  little  better 
than  a  smoke-house  until  the  heat  had  mitigated  the 
pests  while  adding  its  own  discomforts. 

It  was  a  dull  life  enough  for  men  whose  tasks  were 
broken  by  periodical  trips  to  market;  it  was  martyr 
dom  for  housefast  women.  Always  around  the  shanty 
mourned  the  eternal  winds  of  the  plains.  Wind!  Wind! 
Wind  in  varying  quantity,  from  a  breeze  to  a  blizzard, 
but  always  wind.  Its  melancholy  dirge  left  a  haunting 
in  the  eyes  of  men.  Its  ceaseless  moan  prepared  many 
a  plainswoman  for  the  madhouse. 

With  bright  hope  at  heart  to  gild  the  future,  she 
might  have  endured  both  discomfort  and  drudgery,  but 
the  postponement  of  construction  work  on  the  branch 
line  had  killed  immediate  hope.  With  dismay  she  re 
alized  a  certain  coarsening  of  body  and  mind,  a  thicken 
ing  of  finger- joints,  roughness  of  skin,  an  attenuation 
where  milking  had  turned  the  plump  flesh  of  her  arms 
into  gaunt  muscle.  And  to  her  the  thought  of  that 
far-off  summer  day  recurred  with  increasing  frequency — • 
would  this  equilibration  with  environment  end  by  leav 
ing  her  peer  to  the  scrawny,  flat-chested  women  of  the 
settlements?  She  who  had  excelled  in  the  small  arts — - 
music,  painting,  modelling  in  wax  and  clay?  Her  past, 
in  such  seasons  of  depression,  seemed  now  as  that  of 
some  other  girl — a  girl  who  had  worn  pretty  dresses  and 
been  admired  and  petted  by  father,  brother,  and  friends. 
Of  all  her  gifts,  her  voice,  a  sweet  contralto,  was  only 
left  her;  and  of  late  it  had  naturally  attuned  itself  to 

100 


FRICTION  -;;i  V;V 

her  sadder  moods.  So  she  had  felt  her  life  shrink  and 
grow  narrow,  until  looking  down  the  vista  of  frozen 
winters,  baking  summers,  they  seemed,  those  weary 
years,  to  draw  to  a  dull,  hard  point,  the  wind-swept  acre 
with  its  solitary  grave.  Conditions  had  certainly  com 
bined  to  produce  in  her  a  subconscious  discontent  that 
might  develop  into  open  revolt  against  her  lot  at  the 
touch  of  obscure  and  apparently  insignificant  cause ;  they 
reinforced  and  made  dangerous  the  irritation  caused  by 
his  little  gaucheries. 

As  aforesaid,  her  dark  moods  alternated  with  spasms 
of  remorse— fits  of  melting  tenderness  in  which  she  con 
demned  herself  for  her  secret  criticism  of  him.  Peeping 
through  their  bedroom  window  only  the  preceding  night , 
the  moon  had  caught  her  bending  over  his  sleep.  The 
tender  light  absorbed  his  tan,  softened  the  strong  feat 
ures  without  taking  from  their  mobility ;  deeply  shading 
the  hollows,  it  gave  his  whole  face  an  air  of  clear-cut 
refinement.  Its  wonderful  alchemy  foreshadowed  the 
possibilities  of  this  life,  lying  so  quiescent  beneath  her 
eyes.  For  a  long  hour  she  held  the  vigil,  while  thought 
threw  flitting  shadows  athwart  her  face;  then,  stooping, 
she  softly  kissed  him  under  cover  of  her  clouding  hair. 

It  was  a  momentous  caress,  registering  as  it  did  her 
acceptance  of  a  lowered  ideal,  marking  her  realization 
of  the  friction  which  follows  all  marriages  and  is  inevi 
table  to  such  as  hers.  Yet  it  had  not  removed  the  cause ; 
that  remained.  It  is  easier  far  to  overlook  a  great 
sin  than  a  daily  gaucherie,  to  rise  to  vast  calamity  than 
to  brook  the  petty  irritations  which  mar  and  make  life 
ugly.  The  cause  remained,  surely!  To  see  her  quiet 
and  pensive  at  table  this  day,  who  would  have  dreamed 
that  the  morrow  would  see  the  thin  edge  of  the  wedge 
driven  in  between  them? 

"There's  to  be  a  picnic  in  the  grove  by  Flynn's  lake 
8  101 


THE  ^SETTLER 

to-morrow,  Nell,"  he  said,  as  he  rose  from  dinner. 
"Let 'stake  a  day  off?" 

"All  right!"  she  agreed;  and  the  kiss  with  which  she 
rewarded  the  prospect  of  even  such  a  slight  break  in  the 
dulness  of  life  may  easily  be  regarded  as  the  first  tap 
on  the  wedge. 

How  quickly  personality  responds  to  atmosphere! 
When,  next  morning,  Helen  climbed  into  the  buck-board 
beside  Carter,  she  was  frankly  happy  as  a  woman  can  be 
in  the  knowledge  that  she  is  looking  fit  for  the  occasion. 
Cool,  clean,  and  fresh  in  a  billowy  white  dress  of  her  own 
laundering,  excitement  and  Carter's  admiring  glances 
intensified  her  naturally  delicate  color.  As  they  rattled 
over  the  yellow  miles,  doubt  and  misgiving  vanished 
under  the  spell  of  present  happiness.  She  returned  him 
eyes  that  were  lovingly  shy  as  those  of  their  honeymoon; 
was  subdued,  sedate,  sober,  or  burst  out  in  small  trills 
of  song  as  the  mood  seized  her.  Not  until  she  was 
actually  upon  the  picnic-ground  did  she  realize  the  real 
nature  of  this,  her  first  appearance  at  a  public  function 
since  her  marriage. 

A  clear  sky  and  a  breeze  that  set  yellow  waves  chasing 
one  another  over  the  far  horizon  had  brought  out  the 
settlers  in  a  fifty-mile  circle — even  the  remittance-men, 
who  had  been  wont  to  spell  amusement  in  the  red  letters 
of  the  London  alphabet,  were  there.  Like  most  country 
picnics,  it  was  pseudo-religious  in  character,  with  a  hu 
morous  speech  from  the  minister  figuring  as  the  greatest 
attraction.  Amusements  ran  from  baseball  and  chil 
dren's  games  for  youth  to  love-making  in  corners  by 
shamefaced  couples. 

Leaving  Carter  to  put  up  his  team,  Helen  carried 
their  basket  over  to  where  a  crowd  of  officious  matrons 
were  arranging  tables  under  the  trees,  and  so  gained 
first  knowledge  of  what  was  in  store  for  her.  The  latest 

102 


FRICTION 

bride,  she  was  the  centre  of  attraction,  target  for  glances. 
Approaching  a  group  of  loutish  youths,  she  felt  their 
stares,  flushed  under  the  smothered  laugh  which  greeted 
her  sudden  change  of  direction.  Girls  were  just  as  un 
mannerly.  Ceasing  their  own  rough  flirtations,  they  gath 
ered  in  giggling  groups  to  observe  and  comment  on  one 
who  had  already  achieved  that  which  they  contemplated. 

Nor  was  she  more  comfortable  among  the  matrons. 
While  she  was  teaching  school,  the  halo  of  education 
had  set  her  apart  and  above  them,  but  now  they  wished 
her  to  understand  that  her  marriage  had  brought  her 
down  to  their  level.  They  plied  her  with  coarse  con 
gratulations,  embarrassed  her  with  jokes  and  prophecies 
that  were  broader  than  suggestive.  Time  and  again  she 
looked,  for  rescue,  at  Carter,  but  he  was  talking  railroad 
politics  in  an  interested  group,  did  not  join  her  till 
lunch  was  served,  and  afterwards  was  hauled  away  to 
play  in  a  baseball  game — married  men  versus  single. 

So  she  had  but  a  small  respite.  With  his  departure 
the  women  renewed  their  onslaughts,  as  though  deter 
mined  to  beat  down  her  personal  reserve  and  reave  her 
nature  of  its  inmost  secrets.  No  subject  was  too  sacred 
for  their  joking — herself,  her  husband,  the  intimacies  of 
their  lives.  There  was  no  satiating  their  burning  curi 
osity;  her  timid  cheeks,  monosyllabic  answers,  served 
only  to  whet  their  sharp  tongues.  Shocked,  weary, 
cheeks  burning  with  shame,  she  sat  on,  not  daring  to  go 
in  search  of  Carter  and  so  brave  again  the  fire  of  eyes, 
until,  midway  of  the  afternoon,  she  looked  up  to  see 
Molyneux  and  Mrs.  Leslie  approaching. 

It  was  the  crowning  of  her  humiliation.  With  the 
exception  of  a  duty-call  on  her  return  to  Silver  Creek, 
and  which  she  had  not  returned,  it  was  the  first  time 
that  Helen  had  seen  Mrs.  Leslie  for  more  than  a  year. 
"As  you  think  best,"  Carter  had  said,  when  she  had 

103 


THE  SETTLER 

debated  the  advisability  of  renewing  the  friendship. 
"You  wouldn't  care  to  meet  Molyneux  again,  would 
you?  He's  sure  to  be  there."  And,  departing  from  his 
usual  sane  judgment,  he  made  no  further  explanations, 
said  nothing  of  his  drive  in  the  dusk  with  the  love-sick 
woman,  knowledge  of  which  would  surely  have  killed 
Helen's  friendly  feeling.  Lacking  that  knowledge,  she 
had  pined  for  the  one  woman  who  could  give  her  the 
social  and  intellectual  companionship  her  nature  craved, 
pined  with  an  intensity  of  feeling  that  was  only  equalled 
by  her  present  desire  to  avoid  a  meeting. 

If  they  would  only  pass  without  seeing  her,  she 
prayed,  bowing  her  head  in  shame.  But  Mrs.  Leslie 
had  been  watching  from  afar.  "Poor  little  thing!"  she 
had  exclaimed  to  Molyneux.  "Alone  among  those 
harpies!  Come,  let's  rescue  her!"  And  whatever  her 
motive,  the  kiss  she  bestowed  on  the  blushing  girl  was 
warm  and  natural.  "Why,  Helen,"  she  said,  "what 
ever  are  you  doing  here?  Come  along  with  us." 

"We  are  going  to  organize  a  race  for  three-year-old 
tots,  Mrs.  Carter,"  Molyneux  explained.  "We  really 
need  your  assistance." 

His  deferential  air  as  he  stood  bareheaded  before  her, 
the  languid  correctness  of  his  manner,  even  the  aristo 
cratic  English  drawl,  pierced  that  atmosphere  of  vul 
garity  like  a  breath  of  clean  air.  The  easy  insolence 
with  which  he  ignored  the  settler  women  was  as  balm 
to  her  wounded  pride.  She  recovered  her  poise;  her 
drooping  personality  revived. 

"I  should  like  to — very  much,"  she  answered,  adding, 
a  little  timidly,  "But  I  was  waiting  for  my  husband." 

"Dutiful  child,"  Mrs  Leslie  laughed.  "Well,  he  is  so 
busy  running  up  the  batting  average  for  the  Benedicts 
that  he  has  forgotten  you.  Come  along!" 

"We  might  go  round — "  Helen  began,  tentatively. 

104 


FRICTION 

She  would  have  finished  "his  way,"  but,  glancing  over  at 
the  game,  she  saw  that  in  his  interest  he  really  had  for 
gotten  her.  ' '  Very  well ! "  she  substituted ;  and ,  rising ,  she 
strolled  off  between  the  two,  passing  within  a  few  yards  of 
Carter.  Busy  with  his  game,  he  did  not  see  her,  nor  would 
have  known  what  company  she  was  keeping  but  for  Shinn, 
a  near  neighbor  of  Jed  Hines  and  fellow  of  his  kidney. 

"Your  wife,"  he  remarked,  "seems  to  be  enjy-ing 
herself."  His  sneer  caused  a  titter  among  both  players 
and  spectators,  but  before  it  subsided  Carter  came  quickly 
back.  Throwing  a  careless  glance  after  Helen,  "That's 
more'n  I  can  say  for  yourn." 

The  titter  swelled  to  a  roar  that  caused  Helen  to  look 
back.  Mrs.  Shinn,  poor  drudge,  had  not  strayed  twenty 
feet  from  her  cook-stove  in  as  many  squalid  years,  as 
every  one  knew  well.  Grinning  evilly,  Shinn  subsided, 
while,  after  carelessly  waving  his  hand  at  Helen,  Carter 
returned  to  his  batting.  If  he  disapproved  of  her  escort, 
not  a  lift  of  a  line  betrayed  the  fact  to  curious  eyes — not 
even  when  he  drove  around  and  found  her  still  with 
Molyneux  and  Mrs.  Leslie. 

They  were  both  silent  on  the  homeward  drive.  In 
Helen's  mind  Carter  was  associated  with  the  coarse  and 
sickening  humiliations  of  the  day.  As  never  before,  she 
felt  the  enormous  suction  from  below;  she  battled  against 
the  feeling  with  the  desperation  of  the  swimmer  who  feels 
the  whirlpool  clutching  at  his  heels. 

Her  mood  was  defiant,  and  if,  just  then,  he  had  taken 
her  to  task  for  her  truancy,  she  would  have  flamed  up  in 
open  revolt.  But  he  did  not. 

"You  are  tired,"  he  said,  very  gently,  when  the  ponies 
had  run  them  far  out  from  the  press  of  teams  and  rigs. 
She  appreciated  that ;  yet  when  he  slipped  an  arm  about 
her  waist  she  moved  restlessly  within  its  circle. 

The  wedge  was  well  entered. 
105 


XI 

THE    FROST 

ONE  noon,  a  week  after  the  picnic,  Carter  stood  and 
looked  out  over  his  hundred  -  acre  field  of  wheat 
from  his  doorway.  A  golden  carpet,  sprigged  with  the 
dark  green  of  willow  bluffs,  it  ran  back  into  a  black, 
environing  circle  of  distant  woodland.  As  a  vagrant 
zephyr  touched  it  into  life,  Helen  remarked,  looking 
over  his  shoulder : 

"The  serrated  ears  in  restless  movement  give  it  the 
exact  appearance  of  woven  gold.  Isn't  it  beautiful !" 

The  dramatist  loves  to  make  great  events  follow  in 
rapid  sequence.  It  is  the  need  of  his  art.  But  in  life 
the  tragic  mixes  with  the  commonplace.  Even  Lady 
Macbeth  must  have,  on  occasion,  joked  or  talked  scandal 
with  her  handmaidens.  And  as  these  two  looked  out 
over  the  wheat,  there  was  naught  to  indicate  the  shadow 
which  lay  between  them. 

"Finest  stand  I  ever  saw,"  Carter  answered.  "Five- 
foot  straw,  well  headed,  plump  in  the  grain;  ought  to 
grade  Number  One  Extra  Hard.  We'll  make  on  that 
wheat,  little  girl." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

He  turned  quickly. 

"Those  women  at  the  picnic — "  She  explained  her 
dubious  tone.  "They  said  you  were  foolish  to  put  in 
so  much  wheat.  '  What  kind  of  a  darn  fool  is  your  hus 
band,  anyway?'  that  Mrs.  MacCloud  asked  me.  'He 

106 


THE  FROST 

kain't  never  draw  all  that  wheat  to  Lone  Tree.  Take 
him  a  month  to  make  two  trips.  'Tain't  no  use  to  raise 
grain  without  a  railroad.  We  folks  hain't  put  in  more'n 
enough  for  bread  an'  seed.'" 

He  laughed,  as  much  at  her  clever  mimicry  as  at  Mrs. 
MacCloud's  frankness.  "If  they  had  put  in  more  I 
wouldn't  have  sown  any.  Could  have  bought  it  cheaper 
from  them.  But  as  they  didn't — •  Do  you  know  that 
every  man  in  this  settlement  makes  at  least  one  trip  a 
month  to  Lone  Tree  during  the  winter?  Well,  they  do, 
and  they'll  be  glad  to  make  expenses  freighting  in  my 
wheat.  With  grain  at  seventy  a  bushel,  a  load  will 
bring  thirty  dollars  at  the  cars,  and  I  can  hire  all  the 
teams  I  want  at  three  a  trip." 

"Why  " — his  foresight  caused  her  a  little  gasp — -"how 
clever  !  I  should  never  have  thought  of  that." 

His  eyes  twinkled  his  appreciation  of  her  wifely 
admiration,  and,  taking  her  chin  between  his  hands,  he 
looked  down  into  her  eyes.  "What's  more,  when  that 
wheat  money  comes  in,  you  an'  me  '11  jest  run  down  to 
Winnipeg  an'  turn  loose  on  the  dry-goods  stores." 

It  was  the  first  hint  of  his  knowledge  of  the  turning, 
dyeing,  the  shifts  she  had  made  with  her  wardrobe,  and 
he  made  a  winning.  The  knowledge  that  he  had  seen 
and  understood  caused  the  wedge  to  tremble  and  almost 
fall  out. 

"Can  we — afford  it?"  she  asked,  willing  now  to  go 
without  a  thing. 

"Don't  have  to  afford  necessities.  Breaks  me  up  to 
see  you  going  shy  of  things." 

For  the  last  three  days  he  had  bestowed  the  parting 
kiss.  This  morning  he  received  it — a  warm  one  at  that 
— and  as  he  strode  off  stable  ward,  her  burst  of  singing 
echoed  his  cheerful  whistle.  She  was  quite  happy  the 
next  few  days  planning  for  their  descent  on  the  shops. 

107 


THE  SETTLER 

She  sang  at  her  work — warbling  that  was  natural  as  that 
of  the  little  bird  which  prinks  and  plumes  for  its  mate  in 
the  morning  sunlight.  Reflecting  her  happy  mood,  Car 
ter  was  humorously  cheerful — so  pleased  and  satisfied 
that  she  stared  when,  one  evening,  he  came  in,  gloomy 
and  depressed. 

His  black  mood  had  come  out  of  the  east  with  a  moan 
ing  wind  that  now  herded  leaden  clouds  over  dun 
prairies.  For  one  day  rain  pelted  down,  then,  veering 
north,  the  bitter  wind  blew  hard  for  a  second  day. 
That  evening  it  died,  and  a  pale  sun  swung  down  a 
cloudless  sky  to  a  colorless  horizon.  Under  its  cold 
light  the  wheat  stood  erect,  motionless,  devoid  of  its 
usual  sighing  life.  A  hush,  portentous  of  change,  brood 
ed  over  all. 

From  their  doorway  Helen  heard  Hines,  three  miles 
away,  rating  his  dog.  ''Hain't  no  more  gumption  than 
an  Englishman,  durn  you  !  Sick  'em,  now  !"  followed 
the  maligned  animal's  bark  and  the  thunder  of  scurrying 
hoofs. 

"How  clear  and  calm  it  is!"  she  commented,  as  Carter 
came  up  from  the  stables. 

He  glanced  at  the  thermometer  beside  the  door.  "Too, 
clear.  I'm  afraid  it  is  all  off  with  the  wheat." 

"Why?     What  do  you  mean ?" 

He  turned  from  her  astonished  eyes.     "Frost." 

"Frost?  You  are  surely  mistaken?  See  how  sunny 
it  is  !" 

Shaking  his  head,  he  laid  a  forefinger  on  the  thermome 
ter.  "Six  o'clock,  and  the  silver  is  down  to  thirty-five." 

At  dusk  it  had  lowered  another  degree,  and  through 
out  the  northland  a  hundred  thousand  farmers  were 
watching,  with  Carter,  its  slow  recession.  On  the  fertile 
wheat  plains  of  southern  Manitoba,  through  the  vast 
gloom  of  the  Dakotas,  to  the  uttermost  limits  of  Minne- 

108 


THE  FROST 

sota,  the  mercury  focussed  the  interest  of  half  a  million 
trembling  souls  whose  fire-fly  lanterns  dusted  the  conti 
nental  gloom.  Prayers,  women's  tears,  men's  agonized 
curses  marked  its  decline,  that,  like  an  etching  tool, 
graved  deep  lines  on  haggard  faces  in  Chicago,  Liverpool, 
and  London  far  away. 

At  thirty-two  Carter  lit  the  smudges  of  wet  straw,  and 
simultaneously  the  vast  spread  of  night  flamed  out  in 
smoke  and  fire.  "I  don't  go  much  on  it,"  he  told  Helen. 
"But  some  believe  in  it,  and  I  ain't  agoing  to  miss  a 
chance." 

He  was  right.  Pale  thief,  the  frost  stole  in  under  the 
reek  and  breathed  his  cold  breath  on  the  wheat.  Hold 
ing  his  instrument,  at  ten  o'clock,  in  the  thickest  smoke, 
Carter  saw  that  it  registered  twenty-seven.  Five  degrees 
of  frost  and  the  cold  of  dawn  still  to  come !  Raising  the 
glass,  he  dashed  it  to  pieces  at  .his  feet. 

It  was  done.  Reverberating  through  the  land,  the 
smash  of  his  glass  typified  the  shattering  of  innumerable 
fortunes,  the  crash  of  business  houses.  The  pistol-shot 
that  wound  up  the  affairs  of  some  desperate  gambler 
was  but  one  echo.  Surging  wildly,  the  calamity  would 
affect  far  more  than  the  growers  of  wheat.  Iron-work 
ers,  miners,  operatives  in  a  hundred  branches  of  indus 
try  would  shiver  under  the  cold  breath  of  the  frost. 
For  now  the  farmer  would  buy  less  cotton,  the  oper 
ative  pay  more  for  his  flour,  the  miner  earn  a  scantier 
wage. 

True,  the  balance  swings  ever  even.  This  year  ryots 
of  India,  Argentine  peons,  Egyptian  fellaheen  would 
reap  where  they  had  not  sown,  gather  where  they  had 
not  strawed.  Another  year  a  Russian  blight,  Nile 
drouth,  hot  wind  of  Argentine  would  swing  prices  in 
favor  of  the  northland.  But  in  this  was  small  comfort 
for  the  stricken  people. 

109 


THE  SETTLER 

"All  gone  !"  Carter  exclaimed  at  midnight.  "The 
feathers  are  frozen  off  en  them  bonnets." 

Helen  sensed  the  bitterness  under  his  lightness. 
"Never  mind,  dear,"  she  comforted.  "I  really  don't 
care.  You  did  your  best." 

He  had  done  his  best!  To  a  strong  man  the  phrase 
stabs,  signifying  the  victory  of  conditions.  He  winced, 
as  from  an  offered  blow.  It  was  the  last  drop  in  his 
cup,  the  signal  of  his  defeat.  It  marked  the  destruction 
of  this  his  last  plan  for  her.  He  had  not,  in  the  begin 
ning,  intended  that  she  should  ever  set  her  hand  to 
drudgery.  His  love  was  to  come  between  her  and  all 
that  was  sordid,  squalid.  If  the  railroad  contract  had 
materialized,  she  should  have  had  a  little  home  in  Win 
nipeg  where  she  might  enjoy  the  advantages  of  her  early 
life.  He  had  planned  for  a  servant — two,  if  she  could 
use  them — and  all  that  he  asked  in  return  was  that  she 
should  bring  beauty  into  his  life,  adorn  his  home,  sweeten 
his  days  with  the  aroma  of  her  delicate  presence.  In  this 
small  castle  of  Spain  he  had  installed  his  beauty  of  the 
sweet  mouth,  golden  hair,  pretty  profile;  and  now,  out  of 
his  own  disappointment,  he  read  reproach  in  the  hazel 
eyes  that  looked  out  from  the  ruins. 

Long  after  her  sleep-breathing  freighted  the  dusk  of 
their  bedroom,  he  lay  gazing  wide-eyed  into  the  black 
future.  A  sudden  light  would  have  shown  his  eyes 
blank,  expressionless,  for  his  spirit  was  afar,  questing 
for  other  material  with  which  to  rebuild  his  castle.  In 
thought  he  was  travelling  Silver  Creek,  from  its  head 
waters  in  the  timber  limits  to  its  source  where  it  flowed 
into  the  mighty  Assiniboin.  It  was  a  small  stream — 
too  small  to  drive  logs  except  for  a  month  on  the  snow 
waters.  But  with  a  dam  here — another  there — a  third 
on  the  flats — rough  structures  of  logs  with  a  stone  and 
gravel  filling,  yet  sufficient  to  conserve  the  falling 

no 


THE  FROST 

waters!  The  drive  could  then  be  sent  down  from  dam 
to  dam!  During  the  night  he  travelled  every  yard  of 
the  stream,  placing  his  dams,  and  at  dawn  rose,  content 
in  his  eyes. 

Slipping  quietly  from  the  house,  he  saddled  the  Devil 
and  led  him  quietly  by  while  Helen  still  slept,  and  an 
hour  later  rode  up  to  Bender's  cabin.  The  Cougar  was 
also  there,  and  from  dubious  head-waggings  the  two  re 
lapsed  into  thoughtful  acquiescence  as  Carter  unfolded 
his  plans. 

"She'll  go  down  like  an  eel  on  ice!"  Bender  enthusias 
tically  agreed.  "All  you  want  now  is  backing.  Funny, 
ain't  it,  that  nobody  ever  thought  o'  that  before  ?  Say  " 
— he  regarded  Carter  with  open  admiration — "you're  par 
ticular  hell  when  it  comes  to  thinking.  If  I'd  a  head 
piece  like  yourn — " 

"You  hain't,"  the  Cougar  coldly  interrupted,  "so 
don't  waste  no  time  telling  us  what  you  might  ha'  done. 
Get  down  to  business.  I  know  a  man" — he  thought 
fully  surveyed  Carter — "that  financed  half  a  dozen  big 
lumbering  contrac's  on  the  Superior  construction  work. 
He'll  sire  anything  that  looks  like  ten  per  cent,  an*  this 
of  yourn  will  sure  turn  fifty.  Come  inside  an!  I'll  write 
you  a  letter." 

What  of  the  Cougar's  inexperience  with  the  pen,  the 
morning  was  well  on  when  Carter  rode  back  to  his  cabin. 
If  Helen  had  looked  closely  she  might  have  seen  the 
new  resolution  that  inhered  in  his  smile,  but  she  had  been 
concerned  with  her  own  reflections.  Somehow,  things 
had  not  appeared  this  morning  as  they  did  last  night. 
Crude  daylight  shows  events,  like  tired  faces,  in  all  their 
haggardness,  and  their  complexion  was  not  improved 
by  the  steam  from  her  wash-tub.  Time  and  again  she 
had  paused  to  survey  her  hands,  creased  and  wrinkled 
by  cooking  in  hot  water.  Her  bare  arms  recalled  her 

in 


THE  SETTLER 

first  party-dress,  and  set  her  again  in  the  sweet  past. 
Beside  it  the  present  seemed  infinitely  hopeless,  squalid, 
dreary.  As  she  rubbed  and  scrubbed  on  her  wash-board, 
life  resolved  itself  into  an  endless  procession  of  wash-days, 
and  tears  had  mingled  with  the  sweat  that  fell  from  her 
face  to  her  bosom. 

Noting  her  red  eyes,  Carter  was  tempted  to  disclose 
his  new  hope,  but  remembered  the  failure  of  previous 
plans  and  refrained.  As  yet  nothing  was  certain.  He 
would  not  expose  her  to  the  risk  of  another  disappoint 
ment.  He  rightly  interpreted  her  sigh  when  he  told  her 
that  he  would  have  to  go  down  to  Winnipeg  on  business 
about  the  timber  limits,  and  his  heart  smote  him  when, 
looking  back,  he  saw  her  standing  in  the  door.  Dejection 
resided  in  the  parting  wave  of  her  hand,  utter  hopelessness. 

That  lonely  figure  in  the  log  doorway  stuck  in  his 
consciousness  throughout  his  negotiations,  causing  him 
to  hustle  matters  in  a  way  that  simply  scandalized  the 
Cougar's  man,  a  banker  of  the  old  school.  Yet  his 
hurry  served  rather  than  hurt  his  cause.  While  the 
very  novelty  of  it  made  him  gasp,  the  banker  was  im 
pressed.  In  private  he  informed  his  moneyed  partners 
that  such  a  chance  and  such  a  man  rarely  came  together. 
"He's  a  hustler,  and  the  profit  is  there,"  he  said,  in  con 
sultation.  "A  big  profit.  We  can  cut  lumber  ten  per 
cent  .under  the  railroad  price  and  yet  clear  twenty-five 
cents  on  the  dollar." 

That  settled  it.  Half  a  day  later  Carter  was  on  his 
homeward  way,  bearing  with  him  the  power  to  draw  on 
Winnipeg  or  Montreal  for  moneys  necessary  for  supplies, 
men,  and  teams.  Running  home  from  Lone  Tree,  he 
whiled  away  the  miles  with  thoughts  of  Helen's  joy. 
He  pictured  her,  radiant,  flushed,  listening  to  his  news, 
and,  quickening  to  the  thought,  he  raced,  full  gallop, 
the  last  mile  up  to  his  door. 

112 


THE  FROST 

His  face  burst  into  sunshine  as,  in  response  to  his  call, 
he  heard  her  cross  the  floor.  Then  his  smile  died,  and 
he  stared  at  Mrs.  Leslie.  With  the  exception  of  an 
occasional  glimpse  as  they  met  and  passed  on  trail,  it 
was  the  first  he  had  seen  of  her  since  the  soft  summer 
evening  when  she  laid  illicit  love  at  his  feet.  But  no 
hint  of  that  bitter  memory  inhered  in  her  greeting. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Carter?"  she  cried,  in  her  old,  gay 
way.  "I  think  you  are  the  meanest  man  in  Silver  Creek. 
Married  a  year,  and  neither  you  nor  Helen  have  set  foot 
in  our  house.  You  are  a  regular  Blue  beard.  But  you 
needn't  think  that  you  can  hide  from  us  forever.  I 
just  pocketed  my  pride,  ignored  your  snub,  and  made 
my  third  call.  Yes"  —  she  emphatically  nodded  her 
pretty  head — ' '  the  third,  sir.  But  I  forgive  you ;  come 
in  and  have  some  tea.  Helen  is  down  at  the  stables 
hunting  eggs  to  beat  up  a  cake." 

Covering  his  vexation  with  some  light  answer,  he  drove 
on  to  the  stables,  the  life  and  light  gone  out  of  him,  his 
face  the  heaviest  that  Helen  had  ever  seen.  "She 
called,"  she  answered  his  abrupt  question,  "and  I  have 
to  entertain  her."  Then,  piqued  by  his  coldness,  she 
went  on:  "For  matter  of  that,  I  do  not  see  why  you 
should  try  to  cut  me  off  from  her  companionship!  She 
is  the  only  woman  I  care  for  in  the  settlements!" 

If  he  had  only  told  her!  But  causes  light  as  the  falling 
of  a  leaf  are  sufficient  to  deflect  the  entire  current  of  a 
life,  and  it  was  perfectly  natural  that,  in  his  bitter  disap 
pointment,  he  also  should  give  way  to  a  feeling  of  pique. 
The  reason  trembled  to  his  lips,  and  there  paused,  stayed 
by  the  resentment  in  her  eyes. 

"As  you  see  fit,"  he  answered.  "Now  I  have  to  drive 
over  to  see  Bender,  on  business." 

"Won't  you  wait  for  some  tea?" 

"No.     And  don't  wait  supper.     I  may  be  late." 


THE  SETTLER 

Hurt,  she  watched  him  drive  away;  then,  as  he  sud 
denly  reined  in,  she  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
"Here's  a  letter  for  you,"  he  called.  "Got  it  from  the 
office  as  I  came  by." 

He  nodded  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Leslie's  cheery  wave  as 
he  rolled  by  the  cabin.  It  was  more  than  cold,  yet, 
sitting  chin  on  hands,  that  lady  smiled  cheerfully  when 
Helen  came  up  from  the  stable.  "Don't  apologize,  my 
dear,"  she  laughed.  "Men  are  such  fools.  Always  do 
ing  something  to  hurt  their  own  happiness.  Just  banish 
that  rueful  expression  and  read  your  letter." 

"What's  the  matter?"  The  question  was  called  forth 
by  Helen's  sudden  cry  of  dismay.  She  glanced  at  the 
wedding-cards  that  Helen  offered.  "Hum!  Old  flame 
of  yours,  eh?  These  regrets  will  assail  one." 

However,  she  knit  her  straight  brows  over  the  enclos 
ure.  In  part,  it  ran:  "We  were  so  pleased  to  hear  of 
your  wonderful  marriage  from  your  auntie  Crandall.  It 
was  just  like  you  to  announce  the  bare  fact,  but  she  told 
us  all  about  it.  A  railroad  king !  Just  fancy!  He  must 
be  nice  or  our  delicate  Helen  would  never  consent  to  bury 
herself  in  the  wilderness.  Do  you  know  I  have  been  just 
dying  to  see  him,  and  now  I  shall,  for  we  are  passing 
through  your  country  on  our  way  to  the  Orient.  Which 
is  your  station?"  Followed  sixteen  pages  of  questions, 
description  of  trousseau,  and  other  feminine  matters 
which  Helen  reserved  for  future  consumption. 

Could  she  have  laid  tongue,  just  then,  on  Auntie  Cran 
dall,  that  lady  had  surely  regretted  her  enlargements  on 
Helen's  modest  statement  of  her  husband's  prospects. 
Lacking  that  easement  of  feeling,  she  cried.  This  visit 
capped  her  misery,  brought  the  long  record  of  misfort 
une,  discomfort,  disaster  to  a  fitting  climax. 

"Poor  child!"  Mrs.  Leslie  patted  her  shoulder.  "But 
why  did  you  tell  her  such  crammers  ?  It  was  the  good 

114 


THE  FROST 

auntie?"  She  tilted  her  nose.  "For  the  honor  of  the 
family,  we  lie,  eh?  Heaven  help  us!  Your  friend 
—  what's  her  name?  —  Mrs.  Ravell  —  she's  rich,  of 
course?  Thought  so  —  couldn't  be  otherwise  —  trust 
the  malignant  fates  for  that.  Well — "  She  glanced 
meditatively  about  the  cabin.  Instead  of  lime-wash 
ing  the  logs,  settler  fashion,  Helen  had  left  them  to 
darken  with  age,  ornamenting  them  with  a  pair  of 
magnificent  moose  horns  and  other  woodland  trophies. 
Tanned  bear-skins  covered  a  big  lounge  that  ran  across 
one  end ;  buffalo  robes  and  other  skins  took  the  place  of 
mats  on  the  floor.  Mrs.  Leslie  nodded  approval.  "Not 
bad.  Quite  wild-westy,  in  fact.  You  will  simply  have 
to  live  up  to  it.  You  have  given  up  your  town -house 
for  the  present  and  are  rusticating  while  your  hubby 
directs  some  of  his  splendid  schemes  for  the  regeneration 
of  this  section — " 

"Oh!"  Helen  burst  in.  "I  couldn't  say  that.  It 
would  be — " 

"Lying?  Nonsense,  child!  Have  you  a  town-house? 
No!  Well,  what  are  you  kicking  about?"  Mrs.  Leslie's 
descent  to  the  vernacular  was  as  forcible  as  confusing. 
Before  Helen  had  time  to  differentiate  between  the 
status  involved  by  "not  having  a  town-house"  and 
giving  one  up  her  temptress  ran  on.  "That  is  it.  You 
are  rusticating.  Now,  I  can  lend  you  some  of  my  things 
— glass,  china,  and  so  on.  When  do  they  arrive  ?"  She 
consulted  the  letter.  "Hooray!  Your  husband  will  be 
gone  all  next  week,  and  they  come — let  me  see :  one,  two, 
three — next  Friday.  Couldn't  be  better." 

Helen  blushed  under  her  meaning  glance.  "No,  no! 
It  would  be  wicked." 

"Why  not?"  Mrs.  Leslie  laughed  merrily.  "They 
just  dropped  in  and  there's  no  time  to  send  for  him. 
Quite  simple." 

"5 


THE  SETTLER 

"Do  you  think  I'm  ashamed  of  him?"  Helen  asked, 
flushing. 

Mrs.  Leslie  trimmed  her  sails  to  the  squall.  "Cer 
tainly  not.  He's  a  dear.  You  know  I  always  liked  him. 
But — if  your  friends  were  to  make  a  long  stay  it  would 
be  different.  You  couldn't  hide  his  light  under  a  bushel. 
But  a  two  days'  visit?  What  could  they  learn  of  him 
in  that  time?  The  real  him?  They  would  no  more 
than  gather  his  departures  from  the  conventional.  I 
wouldn't  expose  him  to  unfriendly  criticism.  Frankly, 
I  wouldn't,  dear,  at  the  cost  of  a  little  fib!" 

The  flush  faded,  yet  Helen  shook  her  head. 

"As  you  will."  Rising,  the  little  cynic  shrugged  as 
she  drew  on  her  riding-gloves.  "But  at  least  take  a  day 
to  think  it  over." 

"No!"  Helen  shook  vigorous  denial.  "I  shall  tell 
him  to-night." 

She  was  perfectly  sincere  in  her  intention,  and  if 
Carter  had  returned  his  usual  good-natured  self  she 
would  certainly  have  told  him.  But  Mrs.  Leslie's  pres 
ence  had  angered  him  and  destroyed  his  native  judg 
ment.  He  remembered  that  this  was  the  outcome  of 
Helen's  invitation  to  Mrs.  Leslie  at  the  picnic,  and  his 
heart  swelled  at  the  thought  that  she  should,  of  her 
own  volition,  go  back  to  friends  whom  she  knew  that 
he  despised.  He  felt  the  folly  of  his  brooding,  even 
applied  strong  language  to  himself  for  being  many  kinds 
of  a  fool.  But  his  reasonable  intention  to  open  his 
budget  of  good  news  on  his  return  was  never  carried 
out  because  of  the  coldness  of  her  reception.  Nervous 
from  her  own  news,  piqued  by  his  curt  leave-taking,  she 
served  his  supper  in  silence  or  answered  his  few  remarks 
in  monosyllables.  Nothing  was  said  that  night,  and  he 
retired  without  offering  the  usual  kiss. 

There  he  offended  greatly.  Her  woman's  unreason 

116 


THE  FROST 

would,  for  that,  accept  no  excuse.  So  when,  after 
working  off  his  own  mood  next  morning,  he  came  in  to 
breakfast,  he  found  her  still  the  same.  Really  offended, 
she  served  him,  as  at  the  previous  meal,  in  silence,  and 
as,  afterwards,  she  went  about  her  work,  her  lashes 
veiled  her  eyes,  her  lips  pouting. 

It  was  their  first  real  quarrel,  and  the  very  strange 
ness,  novelty  of  her  mood  made  it  charming.  But 
when,  under  urge  of  sudden  tenderness,  he  tried  to  en 
circle  her  waist,  she  drew  away,  and,  afflicted  with  a 
sense  of  injustice,  he  did  not  try  again.  There  again  he 
made  a  mistake.  Justice  has  no  concern  with  love. 
It  is  empirical,  knows  no  law  but  its  own.  She  wanted 
to  be  taken  and  kissed  in  spite  of  herself,  as  have  all 
women  on  similar  occasions,  from  the  cave  maidens 
down. 

It  so  happened  that  she  was  in  the  bedroom  when  he 
left  the  house,  and  she  did  not  see  that  he  had  taken 
with  him  the  bundle  she  had  packed  the  preceding  night. 
She  still  intended  to  mention  the  letter.  Indeed,  as  she 
heard  his  step  on  the  threshold,  she  thought,  "He'll  stop 
at  the  door  for  his  clothes." 

But  he  did  not;  and  hurrying  out  at  the  sound  of 
scurrying  hoofs,  she  was  just  in  time  to  see  him  vanish 
behind  a  poplar  bluff.  She  called,  called,  and  called, 
then  sat  down  and  wept,  the  more  miserable  because  of 
a  secret,  guilty  feeling  of  relief. 

9 


XII 

THE    BREAK 

FOR  three  days  a  brown  smoke  had  hovered  over 
the  black  line  of  distant  spruce.  It  was  far  away, 
fifty  miles  at  least.  Yet  anxious  eyes  turned  con 
stantly  its  way  until,  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day, 
the  omen  faded.  Then  a  sigh  of  relief  passed  over  the 
settlements.  "Back-fired  itself  out  among  the  lakes," 
the  settlers  told  one  another.  Then,  being  recovered 
from  their  scare,  they  invidiously  reflected  on  the 
Indian  agent  who  permitted  his  wards  to  start  fires  to 
scare  out  the  deer.  Nor  did  the  fact  that  the  agent 
was  blameless  in  the  matter  take  from  the  satisfaction 
accruing  from  their  grumblings. 

That  evening  five  persons  sat  with  Helen  at  supper, 
for  she  had  invited  the  Leslies  and  Danvers,  Molyneux's 
farm  pupil,  to  meet  her  guests.  For  her  this  meal  was 
the  culmination  of  days  of  anxious  planning.  To  set 
out  the  table  she  and  Mrs.  Leslie  had  ransacked  their 
respective  establishments,  and  she  blushed  when  Kate 
Ravell  enthused  over  the  result. 

"What  beautiful  china!"  she  exclaimed,  picking  up 
one  of  Mrs.  Leslie's  Wedgwood  cups.  "We  have  noth 
ing  like  this."  Then,  glancing  at  the  white  napery, 
crystal,  and  silver,  she  said,  "Who  would  think  that  we 
were  two  thousand  miles  from  civilization?" 

It  was,  indeed,  hard  to  realize.  Obedient  to  Mrs. 
Leslie's  orders,  her  husband  and  Danvers  had  fished — • 

118 


THE  BREAK 

albeit  with  reluctance — forgotten  dress-suits  from  bot 
tom  deeps  of  leather  portmanteaus.  She  herself  looked 
her  prettiest  in  a  gown  of  rich  black  lace  superimposed 
on  some  white  material,  and,  carrying  her  imperative 
generosity  to  the  limit,  she  had  forced  one  of  her  own 
dinner-dresses  upon  Helen.  Of  a  filmy,  delicate  blue,  it 
brought  out  the  young  wife's  golden  beauty.  From  the 
low  corsage  her  slender  throat  and  delicate  face  rose 
like  a  pink  lily  from  a  violet  calyx.  Usually  she  wore 
her  redundant  hair  coiled  in  a  thick  braid  around  the 
crown  of  her  head  for  comfort ;  but  to-night  it  was  done 
upon  her  neck  in  a  loose  figure  of  eight  that  revealed  its 
mass  and  sheen.  Looking  from  Mrs.  Leslie  to  Helen, 
Kate  Ravell  had  secretly  congratulated  herself  upon 
having,  despite  her  husband's  protest,  slipped  one  of 
her  own  pretty  dresses  into  his  valise. 

His  laugh,  a  wholesome  peal  that  accorded  with  his 
good-humored  face,  followed  her  remark.  "She  didn't 
think  that  at  Lone  Tree,"  he  said.  "A  lumber- wagon 
was  the  best  the  liveryman  could  do  for  us  in  the  way 
of  conveyance,  and  when  Kate  asked  if  he  hadn't  a 
carriage  he  looked  astonished  and  scratched  his  head. 

u<  Ain't  but  one  in  town,'  he  answered,  'an'  it  belongs 
to  Doc  Ellis.  'Tain't  been  used  sence  he  druv  the 
small-pox  case  down  to  the  Brandon  pest-house.  I  'low 
he'd  let  you  have  it.' ' 

His  wife  echoed  his  laugh.  "It  was  a  little  rough, 
but  this  —  it's  great!"  She  pointed  out  through  the 
open  door  over  the  wheat,  golden  under  the  setting  sun, 
to  the  dark  green  and  yellow  of  woods  and  prairies. 
"You  are  to  be  envied,  Nell.  Your  house  is  so  artistic. 
The  life  must  be  ideal—" 

Inwardly,  Mrs.  Leslie  snorted:  "Humph!  If  she 
could  see  her  milking,  up  to  ankles  in  mud  on  rainy 
days— or  feeding  those  filthy  calves?"  Aloud,  she  said, 

119 


THE  SETTLER 

"  Unfortunately,  Helen  isn't  here  very  often  —  spends 
most  of  her  time  in  Winnipeg."  Ignoring  Helen's  plead 
ing  look,  she  ran  on,  "Did  you  store  your  things,  my 
dear,  or  let  the  house  furnished?" 

Thus  entrapped,  Helen  could  only  answer  that  her 
goods  were  stored,  and  her  embarrassment  deepened 
when  Mrs.  Leslie  continued:  "It  is  such  a  pity,  Mrs. 
Ravell,  that  you  could  not  have  met  Mr.  Carter  !  He 
is  such  a  dear  fellow,  so  quiet  and  refined.  Fred" — Les 
lie's  grin  faded  under  her  frown — "what  is  the  matter?" 

"A  crumb,  my  dear,"  he  apologized.  "Excuse  me, 
please." 

"We  shall  have  to  return  you  to  the  nursery."  Her 
glance  returned  to  Kate  Ravell,  and,  oblivious  of  the 
entreaty  in  Helen's  eyes,  she  ran  on  in  praise  of  Carter. 
He  was  so  reserved!  The  reserve  of  strength  that  goes 
with  good-nature!  Resourceful — and  so  she  flowed  on 
with  her  panegyrics.  She  was  not  altogether  insincere. 
Helen  caught  herself  blushing  with  pleasure  whenever, 
leaving  her  fictions,  Mrs.  Leslie  touched  on  some  sterling 
quality.  Twice  she  was  startled  to  hear  put  into  words 
subtilties  that  she  herself  had  only  felt,  and  on  each 
occasion  she  narrowly  watched  Mrs.  Leslie,  an  adumbra 
tion  of  suspicion  forming  in  her  mind.  But  each  time 
it  was  removed  by  absurd  praise  of  hypothetical  qualities 
or  virtues  Carter  did  not  possess.  So  Mrs.  Leslie  praised 
and  teased. 

What  influenced  her?  It  is  hard  to  answer  a  ques 
tion  that  inheres  in  the  complexities  of  such  a  frivolous 
yet  passionate  nature.  Naturally  good-natured,  she 
would  help  Helen  out  in  all  things  that  did  not  cross  her 
own  purposes.  The  sequel  proves  that  she  had  not  yet 
got  Carter  out  of  her  hot  blood.  Given  which  two  things, 
her  action,  teasings,  and  panegyrics  are  at  least  under 
standable, 

120 


THE  BREAK 

"We  are  very  sorry,"  Kate  Ravell  said  when  Mrs. 
Leslie  gave  pause.  "We  did  wish  to  see  him.  Do  you 
suppose,  Helen,  that  we  might  if  we  stayed  another 
day?" 

It  was  more  than  possible,  but  Ravell  relieved  Helen 
of  a  sudden  deadly  fear.  "Can't  do  it,  my  dear.  We 
are  tied  down  by  schedule.  Should  miss  the  Japan 
steamer  and  have  to  lay  over  in  Vancouver  two  weeks. ' ' 

Kate  sighed.  Newly  married,  she  had  all  of  a  young 
wife's  desire  to  see  her  girl  friend  happy  as  herself;  nor 
would  aught  but  ocular  demonstration  satisfy  the  long 
ing.  She  was  expressing  the  hope  that  Carter  and 
Helen  should  some  day  visit  them  in  their  Eastern  home, 
when  she  suddenly  paused,  staring  out-doors.  Follow 
ing  her  glance,  Mrs.  Leslie  saw  a  man,  a  big  fellow  in 
lumberman's  shirt  and  overalls.  The  garments  were 
burned  in  several  places,  so  that  blackened  skin  showed 
through.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  face  sooty,  which 
accounted  for  Mrs.  Leslie's  not  recognizing  him  at  once. 

"Mr.  Carter!"  she  exclaimed,  after  a  second  look. 

Helen  was  pouring  tea,  but  she  sprang  up  at  the  name, 
spilling  a  cup  of  boiling  tea  over  her  wrist.  She  did  not 
feel  the  scald.  Breathless,  she  stood,  a  hand  pressed 
against  her  bosom,  until  Mrs.  Leslie,  the  always  ready, 
burst  into  merry  laughter. 

"What  a  blackamoor!  How  you  frightened  us! 
Where  have  you  been?" 

Coming  up  from  the  stables,  Carter  had  heard  voices, 
laughter,  the  tinkle  of  teacups,  and  the  sound  had 
afflicted  him  with  something  of  the  feeling  that  assails 
the  wanderer  whose  returning  ears  give  him  sounds  of 
revelry  in  the  old  homestead.  He  had  suffered,  during 
his  absence,  remorse  for  his  own  obstinacy  mingling  in 
equal  proportions  with  the  pain  of  Helen's  coldness. 
Absence  had  been  rendered  endurable  by  the  thought 

121 


THE  SETTLER 

that  it  would  make  reconciliation  the  easier;  but  now 
that  he  was  returned,  ready  to  give  and  ask  forgiveness, 
to  pour  his  good  news  into  her  sympathetic  ear,  he  found 
her  merrymaking. 

His  was  a  hard  position.  Between  himself,  rough, 
ragged,  dirty,  and  these  well-groomed  men  in  evening 
dress,  there  could  be  no  more  startling  contrast.  He 
felt  it.  The  table,  with  its  snowy  napery,  gleaming 
appointments,  was  foreign  to  his  sight  as  the  decollete 
dresses,  the  white  arms  and  necks.  Yet  his  natural 
imperturbability  stood  him  bravely  in  place  of  sophisti 
cation. 

"Been  fighting  fire,"  he  answered,  with  his  usual  de 
liberation.  "Suppose  I  do  look  pretty  fierce." 

His  glance  moved  inquiringly  from  the  Ra veils  to 
his  wife. 

But  she  still  stood,  eyes  wide,  breath  issuing  in  light 
gasps  from  her  parted  lips.  For  her  also  the  moment 
was  full  of  bitterness.  There  was  no  time  for  thought. 
She  only  felt — a  composite  feeling  compounded  of  the 
misgiving,  discontent,  humiliation,  disappointment,  dis 
illusionment  of  the  last  few  months.  It  all  culminated 
in  that  moment,  and  with  it  mixed  deep  shame,  remorse 
for  her  conduct.  Also  she  had  regret  on  another  score. 
If  she  had  told  him,  he  would  at  least  have  been  prepared, 
have  achieved  a  presentable  appearance.  Now  she  was 
taken  in  her  sin!  Foul  with  smoke,  soot,  the  dirt  and 
grime  of  labor,  he  was  facing  her  guests. 

Starting,  she  realized  that  they  were  waiting,  puzzled, 
for  introductions — that  is,  Kate  was  puzzled.  Ravell 
was  busily  employed  taking  admiring  note  of  Carter's 
splendid  inches.  Poor  Helen!  She  might  have  been 
easier  in  her  mind  could  she  have  sensed  the  friendly 
feeling  that  inhered  in  Ravell's  cordial  grip. 

"We  were  just  deploring  the  fact  that  we  were  not  to 

122 


THE  BREAK 

meet  you,  Mr.  Carter,"  he  said.  "We  felt  sure  of  find 
ing  you  home  after  the  notice  we  gave  Mrs.  Carter.  We 
were  really  quite  jealous  of  your  affairs,  but  now  we 
shall  go  away  satisfied." 

Given  a  duller  man,  the  word  "notice"  supplied  the 
possibilities  of  an  unpleasant  situation.  But  though  he 
instantly  remembered  the  letter,  Carter  gave  no  sign 
till  he  and  Helen  had  passed  into  their  bedroom.  Even 
then  he  abstained  from  direct  allusions. 

"Friends  of  yourn?"  he  questioned,  as  she  set  out 
clean  clothing. 

"Kate  is  an  old  school-fellow.  Wait;  I'll  get  you 
clean  towels."  She  bustled  about,  hiding  her  nervous 
ness  from  his  gray  inquisition.  "They  are  on  their 
honey-moon.  Going  to  the  Orient — Japan,  China,  and 
the  island  countries.  They  stayed  off  a  couple  of  days 
to  see  us." 

"To  see  you,"  he  corrected. 

She  colored.  Her  glance  fluttered  away  from  his 
grave  eyes.  She  hurried  again  into  speech.  "Wait, 
dear!  I'll  get  you  some  warm  water." 

He  refused  the  service,  he  who  had  loved  to  take  any 
thing  from  her  hands.  "Thanks.  I  think  the  lake  fits 
my  case.  Give  me  the  towels  and  I'll  change  down  there 
after  my  swim." 

The  meal  was  finished,  and  she,  with  the  others,  had 
carried  her  chair  outside  before  he  came  swinging  back 
from  the  lake.  He  was  wearing  the  store  clothes  of  her 
misgivings,  but  the  ugly  cut  could  not  hide  the  magnifi 
cent  sweep  of  his  limbs.  She  thrilled  despite  her  misery. 
As  she  rose  to  get  his  dinner,  Mrs.  Leslie  also  jumped  up. 

"Poor  man,  you  must  be  famished!"  she  exclaimed. 
"No,  Helen,  you  are  tired.  Stay  here  and  entertain  the 
men.  Mrs.  Ravell  and  I  will  wait  on  Mr.  Carter.  And 
you,  Mr.  Danvers,  may  act  as  cookee." 

123 


THE  SETTLER 

Thus  saved  from  an  uncomfortable  te'te-a-te'te,  Helen 
suffered  a  greater  misery  than  his  accusing  presence. 
While  chatting  with  Ned  Ravell,  her  ears  were  strained 
to  catch  the  conversation  going  on  inside.  She  listened 
for  Carter's  homely  locutions,  shivering  as  she  pictured 
his  primitive  table  manners.  As  a  burst  of  laughter 
followed  his  murmured  bass,  she  wondered  whether  they 
were  laughing  with  or  at  him. 

She  might  have  been  easy,  for  the  laugh  was  on  Dan- 
vers.  As  yet  that  young  gentleman  was  still  in  the 
throes  of  the  sporting  fever  which  invariably  assails 
Englishmen  new  to  the  frontier.  Any  day  he  might  be 
seen  wriggling  snakelike  on  the  flat  of  his  belly  through 
mud  towards  some  wary  duck,  and  an  enthusiastic  eu- 
logium  on  the  shooting  qualities  of  a  new  Greener  gun 
had  drawn  from  Carter  the  story  of  Danvers'  first  kill. 

"Prairie  chicken's  mighty  good  eating  an'  easy  shoot 
ing,"  he  remarked,  with  a  sly  look  at  Kate  Ravell. 
"But  nothing  would  satisfy  his  soaring  ambitions  but 
duck.  Duck  for  his,  sirree!  an'  he  blazed  away  till  the 
firmament  hereabouts  was  powder-marked  and  riddled. 
Burned  up  at  least  three  tons  of  powder  before  he  got 
my  duck." 

"Your  duck?"  Danvers  protested.  "Just  hear  him, 
Mrs.  Leslie.  It  was  a  wild  duck  that  I  shot  down  here 
by  the  lake." 

Carter  chuckled  and  went  on  with  his  teasing.  "I 
came  near  being  called  as  a  witness  to  that  cruel  murder, 
for  I  was  back-setting  the  thirty  acres  down  by  the  lake 
when  I  heard  a  shot  an'  a  yell.  I  read  it  that  he'd  got 
himself,  an'  was  jes'  going  after  the  remains,  when  up  he 
comes  on  a  hungry  lope,  gun  in  one  hand  and  a  mallard 
in  the  other.  The  bird  was  that  mussed  up  its  own 
mother  couldn't  have  told  it  from  a  cocoanut  door-mat. 
Looked  like  it  had  made  foolish  faces  at  a  Gatling;  yet 

124 


THE  BREAK 

he  tells  me  that  he  gets  the  unfortunate  animal  at  eighty 
yards  on  the  wing." 

"You  know  how  close  that  old  gun  of  mine  used  to 
shoot,"  Danvers  interrupted.  "It  was  choke-bored, 
Mrs.  Ravell.  At  eighty-yards  it  would  put  every  shot 
inside  of  a  three-foot  circle." 

"The  feather  marking  looked  sort  of  familiar  to  me," 
Carter  went  calmly  on.  "An*  he  admits,  on  cross-ex 
amination,  that  he  murders  this  bird  in  front  of  my 
cabin." 

"What  of  it?"  Danvers  eagerly  put  in.  "Wild  ducks 
light  any  old  place." 

"But  it  jes'  happens  that  the  confiding  critter  has 
raised  her  brood  in  the  sedges  there,  being  encouraged 
an'  incited  thereto  by  my  wife,  who  throws  it  bread  an' 
other  pickings.  Taking  Danvers'  gun-barrel  for  some 
new  kind  of  worm,  when  he  pokes  it  through  the  sedge 
she  sails  right  up  and  is  examining  the  boring  thereof, 
when,  bang!  she's  blown  into  a  railroad  disaster." 

"Don't  believe  him,  Mrs.  Ravell,"  Danvers  pleaded. 
"It  was  a  wild  duck,  and  I  shot  it  flying." 

"  So  if  the  new  gun's  what  you  say  it  is,"  the  tormentor 
finished,  "you'd  better  to  practise  on  prairie  chicken  an' 
don't  be  misled  by  Mrs.  Leslie's  hens." 

"As  though  I  couldn't  tell  a  hen  from  a  prairie 
chicken!" 

Carter  joined  in  the  laugh  which  Danvers'  indignant 
remonstrance  drew  from  the  women,  yet  under  the 
laugh,  beneath  his  humorous  indifference,  lay  a  sad 
heart.  "She  knew  they  were  coming!  She  didn't  tell 
me!"  Down  by  the  lake  he  had  reasoned  the  situation 
out  to  its  cruel  conclusion — "She's  ashamed  of  me!" 
How  it  hurt!  Yet  the  flick  on  the  raw  served  him  well 
in  that  it  set  him  on  his  mettle,  nerved  him  to  carry  off 
the  situation. 

125 


THE  SETTLER 

He  did  not  try  to  transcend  his  limitations,  to  clog 
himself  with  unfamiliar  restrictions  of  speech  or  man 
ners.  But  within  those  limitations  he  did  his  best,  and 
did  it  so  well  that  neither  woman  was  conscious  of  social 
difference.  He  showed  none  of  the  bashfulness  which 
might  be  expected  from  a  frontiersman  sitting  for  the 
first  time  at  table  with  fashionable  women  in  dinner- 
gowns.  On  the  contrary,  he  admired  the  pretty  dresses, 
the  white  arms,  the  hands  that  handled  the  teacups  so 
gracefully;  and  when  he  spoke  the  matter  so  eclipsed 
the  manner  that  it  is  doubtful  whether  Kate  Ravell 
noticed  a  single  locution.  His  shrewd  common-sense, 
quaint  humor,  the  quickness  with  which  he  grasped  a 
new  point  of  view,  and  the  freshness  of  his  own  impressed 
her  with  his  strong  personality.  Pleased  and  amused, 
she  had  no  time  to  notice  grammatical  lapses  or  small 
table  gaucheries  that  had  irritated  Helen  by  constant 
repetition. 

"He's  delightful,"  she  told  her  husband,  in  a  conjugal 
aside. 

In  the  conversation  which  ensued  after  they  joined 
the  others  outside,  Carter  also  took  no  mean  part.  Of 
things  he  knew,  and  these  ranged  over  subjects  that 
were  the  more  interesting  because  unfamiliar  to  the 
town-bred  folks,  he  spoke  entertainingly;  and  on  those 
foreign  to  his  experience  he  preserved  silence.  On  every 
common  topic  his  opinion  was  sound,  wholesome.  His 
keen  wit  punctured  several  fallacies.  The  quaint  respect 
of  his  manner  to  the  women  served  him  as  well  with  the 
men. 

"Big  brain,"  Ravell  told  his  wife  in  that  conference 
which  all  married  folk  have  held  since  the  first  pair 
retired  to  their  bedroom  under  the  stars  at  the  forks  of 
the  Euphrates.  "That  fellow  will  go  far." 

"So  gentle  and  kind,"  Kate  added.  "I  think  Helen 
126 


THE  BREAK 

is  lucky.  Those  English  people  are  nice,"  she  went  on, 
musingly;  "but  if  I  were  Helen  I'd  keep  an  eye  on  Mrs. 
Leslie." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  his  surprised  look,  nodding 
vigorously.  "She  is  in  love  with  Mr.  Carter.  How  do 
I  know?"  She  sniffed.  "Didn't  I  see  her  eyes  —  the 
opportunities  she  made  to  touch  him  while  handing  him 
things  at  supper?  Helen  is  safe,  though,  so  long  as  she 
treats  him  properly.  He  doesn't  care  for  Mrs.  Leslie." 

He  shook  his  head  reprovingly.  "You  shouldn't 
make  snap  judgments,  Kate." 

Had  he  witnessed  a  little  scene  that  occurred  just 
before  the  Leslies  drove  away!  Good-byes  had  been 
said,  and  Helen  had  gone  in-doors  with  her  guests. 
Danvers,  who  was  riding,  had  galloped  away.  Then,  at 
the  last  moment,  Leslie  remembered  that  he  had  left 
his  halters  at  the  stable.  While  he  ran  back  Carter 
stood  beside  the  rig.  Brilliant  northern  moonlight 
showed  him  Mrs.  Leslie's  eyes,  dark,  dilated,  but  he 
ignored  their  knowledge  till  she  spoke. 

"/  wouldn't  have  done  it." 

"Done  what?" 

His  stoicism  could  not  hide  the  sudden  flash  of  pain. 
She  saw  it  writhe  over  his  face  like  the  quivering  of 
molten  lead  ere  his  features  set  in  stern  immobility. 

"It  is  very  chivalrous  of  you."  She  smiled  bitterly. 
"But  why  wear  a  mask  with  me?" 

"You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  ma'am,"  he  stiffly 
answered,  and  moved  round  to  the  ponies'  heads. 

Leslie  was  now  returning,  but  she  spoke  again,  quick 
ly,  eagerly,  with  the  concentration  of  passion.  "It  is 
always  the  way!  The  more  we  spurn  you  the  hotter 
your  love,  and — "  She  paused,  then,  hearing  her  hus 
band's  foot-fall,  whispered:  "Vice  versa.  Remember!  / 
wouldn't  have  done  it!" 

127 


THE  SETTLER 

After  their  departing  rattle  had  died,  Carter  threw 
himself  on  the  grass  before  the  house  and  lay,  head  on 
clasped  hands,  staring  up  at  the  moon;  and  Helen,  who 
was  using  unnecessary  time  making  a  temporary  bed, 
paused  and  looked  out  from  the  open  door.  The  dark 
figure  loomed  stern  and  still  as  the  marble  effigy  of  some 
crusader.  There  was  something  awful  in  his  silence ;  the 
soft  moonlight  quivered  around  and  about  him,  seemed 
a  sorrowful  emanation.  Frightened,  remorseful,  she  sat 
locking  and  unlocking  her  fingers.  What  was  he  think 
ing? 

Part  of  his  thought  was  easy  to  divine.  It  would  be 
common  to  any  man  in  his  situation — the  hurt  pride, 
jealous  pain,  misgiving,  unhappiness,  but  beyond  these 
was  an  unknown  quantity,  the  product  of  his  own  pecul 
iar  individuality.  His  keen  intellect  had  already  ana 
lyzed  the  cause  of  her  shame.  He  was  rough,  crude, 
unpolished!  Any  man  might  also  have  reached  that 
conclusion.  It  was  in  the  synthesis,  the  upbuilding  of 
thought  from  that  conclusion,  that  he  branched  from  the 
common.  He  was  humble  enough  in  acknowledging  his 
defects.  Yet  his  natural  wit  showed  him  that  humility 
would  not  serve  in  these  premises.  Forgiveness  for  the 
crime  against  his  personality  would  not  remove  the  cause 
of  the  offence.  Far-sighted,  he  saw  down  the  vista  of 
years  his  and  her  love  slowly  dying  of  the  same  similar 
offences  and  causes.  That,  at  least,  should  never  be! 
He  had  reached  a  decision  before  she  came  creeping  out 
in  her  night-dress. 

"Aren't  you  coming  to  bed,  dear?" 

He  sensed  the  remorse,  sorrow,  pity  in  her  voice,  but 
these  were  not  the  feelings  to  move  his  resolution.  Pity! 
It  is  the  anodyne,  the  peaceful  end  of  love.  Rising,  he 
stretched  his  great  arms  and  turned  towards  the  sta 
bles. 

128 


THE  BREAK 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  called,  sharply,  under  the 
urge  of  sudden  fear. 

"To  turn  in  on  the  hay." 

She  ran  and  caught  his  arm,  and  turned  her  pale  face 
up  to  his.  "Why?  I  have  made  our  bed  on  the  couch. 
Won't  you  come  in?" 

"No!" 
.     "Why?"  she  reiterated.     "Oh,  why?" 

"Because  it  is  shame  to  live  together  when  love  has 
fled." 

She  clasped  his  arm  with  both  hands.  "Oh,  don't  say 
that!  How  can  you  say  it?  Who  says  I  do  not  love 
you?" 

"Yourself."  His  weary,  hopeless  tone  brought  her 
tears.  "In  love  there  is  no  shame,  an1  you  was  ashamed 
of  me." 

"I  did  mean  to  tell  you."  Desperate,  she  caught  his 
neck.  How  valuable  this  love  was  becoming,  now  she 
felt  it  slipping  from  her!  "I  did!  But  you  went  away 
without  saying  good-bye." 

"There  was  opportunity,  plenty.  You  could  have 
sent  for  me." 

His  sternness  set  her  trembling.  "Then — I  thought — 
I  thought — they  were  only  to  be  here  for  one  day.  Such 
a  short  visit.  I  thought  they  might  misjudge — I  didn't 
want  to  expose  you  to  hostile  criticism." 

"  You've  said  it.     Love  knows  no  fear.     Good-night." 

"Oh!— please— don't!"  she  called  after  him,  as  he 
strode  away.  Pity,  woman's  weakness,  the  conservative 
instinct  that  makes  against  broken  ties,  these  were  all 
behind  her  cry,  and  his  keen  sensibility  instantly  detected 
them.  He  closed  the  stable  door. 

According  to  the  canons  of  romance,  it  would  have 
been  very  proper  for  that  jarring  echo  to  have  unstopper- 
ed  the  fountains  of  her  love  and  all  things  would  have 

129 


THE  SETTLER 

come  to  a  proper  ending.  But,  somehow,  it  did  not. 
After  a  burst  of  crying  into  her  lonely  pillow,  she  lay 
and  permitted  her  mind  to  hark  back  over  her  married 
life.  Hardship,  squalor,  suffering,  misfortune  passed  in 
review  till  she  gained  back  to  the  days  when  Molyneux 
had  also  paid  her  court.  What  share  had  anger  and 
pique  in  affecting  her  decision?  Angry  pride  was,  just 
then,  ready  to  yield  them  the  larger  proportion.  Later 
came  softer  memories.  She  was  troubled  as  she  thought 
of  his  generous  kindness.  Under  the  thought  affection, 
if  not  love,  revived,  and  conscience  permitted  no  sleep 
until  she  promised  to  beg  forgiveness. 

However,  circumstance  robbed  her  of  the  opportunity. 
Before  the  Ravells  retired,  Carter  had  said  good-bye,  as 
he  intended  to  start  back  for  the  woods  before  sunrise. 
"You  needn't  to  get  up,  either,"  he  had  told  her.  "I'll 
take  breakfast  with  Bender."  But  now  she  promised 
herself  that  she  would  rise,  get  him  a  hot  meal,  and  then 
make  her  peace.  But  at  dawn  she  was  awakened  by  his 
wheels,  and,  running  to  the  door,  she  was  just  in  time  to 
see  him  go  by.  She  would  have  called  only,  as  the  cry 
trembled  to  her  lips,  his  words  of  the  night  before  re 
curred  to  memory — "Marriage  without  love  is  shame!" 
Suddenly  conscious  of  her  night-gear,  she  shrank  as  a 
young  girl  would  from  the  eye  of  a  stranger,  and  the 
chance  was  gone. 

"I'll  tell  him  when  he  returns,"  she  murmured,  blush 
ing. 

But  he  did  not  return;  and  two  days  later  Bender 
and  Jenny  Hines  drove  up  to  the  door. 

In  the  neatly  dressed  girl,  with  hair  done  on  top  of 
her  head,  it  was  difficult,  indeed,  to  recognize  the  for 
lorn  creature  whom  Bender  had  picked  up  on  that  night 
trail.  Though  she  was  still  small — a  legacy  from  her 

130 


THE  BREAK 

drudging  years  —  she  had  filled  and  rounded  out  into 
a  becoming  plumpness.  Her  pale  eyes  had  deepened, 
were  full  of  sparkle  and  color.  Two  years  ago  she  would 
have  been  deemed  incapable  of  the  smile  she  turned  on 
Helen. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Carter;  an*  I'm  to  stay 
with  you  all  winter  while  your  husband's  up  at  the  camp. 
The  doctor  didn't  want  to  let  me  go,"  she  said,  not  not 
ing  Helen's  surprise,  "an*  he  wouldn't  to  any  one  but 
you." 

"The  camp ?     What  camp ?" 

It  was  Jenny's  turn  to  stare.  As  for  Bender,  he  gaped, 
while  his  colors  rivalled  those  of  a  cooked  beet.  Sweat 
ing  under  her  questions,  he  looked  off  and  away  to  escape 
the  spectacle  of  her  white  misery  as  he  explained  Carter's 
new  enterprise  and  its  glorious  possibilities.  He  finished 
with  an  attempt  at  comfort. 

"I  ain't  surprised  that  he  didn't  tell  you.  I  allow  he 
was  going  to  spring  it  on  you  all  hatched  and  full-fledged. 
Me  an'  Jenny  here  was  real  stupid  to  give  it  away.  Might 
just  as  well  have  said  as  she'd  come  on  a  little  visit.  I 
allow  he'll  be  hopping  mad  at  the  pair  of  us.  An'  now 
I'll  have  to  be  going  after  the  Cougar.  He'll  do  the 
chores  till  we  kin  get  you  a  hired  man." 

If  the  fiction  eased  the  situation,  it  deceived  neither 
her  nor  them.  Having,  a  week  later,  delivered  the  new 
hired  man,  a  strong  young  Swede,  Bender  delivered  his 
real  opinion  with  dubious  head-shakings  while  carting 
the  Cougar  away.  "Don't  it  beat  hell,  Cougar?  Him 
that  straight  an'  good,  her  that  sweet  an*  purty,  yet  they 
don't  hitch.  It's  discouraging." 

"Well,"  the  cynic  grunted,  "take  warning." 

Bender  eyed  him  wrathfully.  "Now  what  in  hell  do 
you  mean?" 

But  he  blushed  under  the  Cougar's  meaning  glance. 


THE  SETTLER 

"I  reckon  he'll  drop  in  on  his  way  up,"  Bender  had 
assured  Helen.  But  he  did  not.  She  yet  allowed  herself 
to  hope — hoped  on  while  the  weeks  drew  into  months, 
each  of  which  brought  a  check  for  household  expenses. 
Soon  the  snows  blanketed  the  prairies;  heavy  frost  vied 
with  the  cold  at  her  heart;  and  he  had  not  come. 
Jenny's  reticence  kept  the  truth  from  leaking  out;  but 
such  things  may  not  be  hid,  and  about  Christmas-time 
it  was  whispered  through  the  settlements  that  Carter 
had  left  his  wife. 


XIII 

THE   CAMP 

THAT  was  a  hard  winter.  From  five  feet  of  snow 
the  settlements  thrust  up,  grim,  ugly  blotches  on 
the  whiteness.  And  it  was  very  cold.  Once  the  spirit 
dropped  down,  down,  down  to  seventy-two  below  zero — 
one  hundred  and  four  degrees  of  frost.  Fifty  was  normal ; 
forty,  rather  warm.  Also  it  stormed,  and  when  the 
blizzard  cut  loose,  earth,  air,  or  sky  was  not  merged  in 
blanched  chaos. 

Nestling  snugly  in  the  heart  of  the  spruce,  Carter's 
camp,  however,  was  free  of  the  blizzard.  Let  the  forest 
heave  to  upper  air-currents,  tossing  skeleton  branches 
with  eerie  creakings,  yet  the  gangs  worked  in  comfort, 
cutting  and  hauling  logs,  while  outside  a  hundred-mile 
wind  might  be  herding  the  drifts. 

By  New  Year's  his  work  was  well  in  hand.  Eight 
million  feet  of  logs  lay  on  the  ice,  filling  Silver  Creek 
bankful  like  a  black  flood  for  a  long  half-mile.  Not  that 
this  had  been  accomplished  without  friction.  Such  jet 
tison  of  humanity  as  drifts  to  a  lumber-camp  does  not 
shake  down  to  work  in  a  day.  From  earth's  four  cor 
ners  a  gallows  crew  of  Swedes,  French,  Russians,  Irish, 
Canadians,  Yankees  drifted  in,  and  for  one  month  there 
after  internecine  war  raged  in  the  bunk-houses.  Then, 
having  bit,  gouged,  and  kicked  itself  into  some  sort  of  a 
social  status,  the  camp  concentrated  upon  the  boss. 

The  choppers,  strangers  to  him,  soon  took  his  measure. 


THE  SETTLER 

A  swift  answer  to  a  mutinous  glance,  an  order  quietly 
drawled,  and  the  relation  was  duly  fixed.  But  it  was 
different  with  the  teamsters.  They,  with  their  teams, 
were  all  drawn  from  the  settlements  and  knew  him  per 
sonally  or  by  report.  Even  Hines  had  condescended  to 
accept  three  dollars  a  day  and  board  at  the  hand  of  his 
enemy.  But  than  this  no  man  can  greater  offend  against 
his  neighbors — to  rise  superior  in  the  common  struggle 
for  existence.  From  them  he  obtained  no  credit  for  the 
initiative  which  had  conjured  the  camp  out  of  nothing. 
Now  that  it  was  in  full  swing,  each  man  felt  that  he  could 
have  done  the  trick  himself.  A  man  may  have  no  honor 
in  his  own  country;  so,  as  always  was,  always  will  be, 
they,  the  weak,  snarled  at  him,  the  strong  carrying  their 
envious  spite  to  the  length  of  trying  to  kill  the  goose 
which  was  laying  the  golden  egg.  Though  the  money 
earned  this  winter  would  make  an  easy  summer,  they 
struck  at  the  source  of  supply — -wasted  his  fodder,  tipped 
over  his  sleds,  cast  logs  off  to  lighten  their  loads,  mani 
fested  their  jealousy  in  a  hundred  mean  ways. 

The  matter  of  the  fodder  he  easily  corrected.  Dis 
covering  the  teams  one  evening  bedded  to  their  bellies 
with  his  choicest  hay,  he  sent  for  Bender,  who  expressed 
himself  profanely  over  the  waste. 

"If  this  keeps  up  we'll  be  out  of  hay  an*  a  job  in 
another  month,"  Carter  said.  "What's  got  into  them?" 

"Search  me,"  the  giant  foreman  answered.  "They 
know  a  heap  better.  Pure  malice,  I  reckon." 

"Got  a  good  man  in  your  gang?" 

"Big  Hans,  the  loader.  He's  licked  every  man  in  his 
outfit." 

"Well,  put  him  in  charge  of  the  stables,  with  fifty 
cents  a  day  raise." 

"Don't  need  the  raise,"  Bender  suggested.  "He'd 
sooner  fight  than  eat." 

134 


THE  CAMP 

"Oh,  give  it  to  him." 

Events  justified  the  expenditure.  At  the  end  of  a 
week  it  were,  indeed,  difficult  to  locate  a  feature  of  Big 
Hans's  face — to  distinguish  nose  from  cheek  or  discover 
his  mouth.  But  beyond  this  uncertainty  of  visage  there 
was  nothing  undecided  about  Hans.  He  had  worked 
steadily  through  the  teamsters  and  come  out  on  top. 
The  waste  stopped. 

The  derelict  logs  and  loads  were  not  so  easily  settled. 
Once,  sometimes  twice,  a  month  business  called  Carter 
to  Winnipeg,  and,  though  Bender  ruled  the  camp  with 
an  iron  fist,  one  pair  of  eyes  cannot  keep  tab  on  fifty 
teamsters.  Driving  in  one  evening,  Carter  counted  fif 
teen  cast-off  loads  between  the  dumps  and  the  skidways. 
The  last  lay  within  three  hundred  yards  of  the  skids, 
where  a  halloo  would  have  brought  the  Cougar — loading 
boss — and  a  dozen  men  to  the  teamster's  aid. 

That  was  the  last  straw.  Through  gray  obscurity  of 
snowy  dusk  Carter  stared  at  the  dark  mass  as  though  it 
incarnated  the  mulish  obstinacy  which  dogged  his  enter 
prise.  Perhaps  it  did,  to  him,  for  he  muttered:  "I'm 
real  sorry  for  you.  Must  have  troubled  you  some  to 
make  back  to  the  stables.  Guess  you  wasn't  late  for 
supper." 

Vexed,  indignant,  he  drove  slowly  by  the  skidways, 
where  the  sleds  stood  loaded  for  the  morning  trip. 
Enormous  affairs,  built  on  his  own  plans,  fourteen  feet 
across  the  bunks,  they  were  loaded  squarely  with  four 
tiers  of  logs,  then  ran  up  to  a  single  log.  In  the  gloom 
they  loomed  like  hay -stacks,  and  a  stranger  to  the 
woods  would  have  sworn  that  no  single  team  could  start 
one.  But  they  ran  on  rounded  runners  over  iced  tracks, 
and  Carter  knew  that  they  were  not  overloaded. 

"No  kick  there,"  he  muttered. 

Farther  on  a  rise  in  the  trail  gave  him  a  view  of  the 

135 


THE  SETTLER 

camp  across  a  wide  slough:  a  jumble  of  log  buildings 
that  shouldered  one  another  over  the  inequalities  of  a 
narrow,  open  strip  between  slough  and  forest.  Under 
the  rising  moon  the  sod  roofs,  flat  and  snow-clad,  gleam 
ed  faintly.  Patches  of  yellow,  frosted  windows  blotched 
the  mass  of  the  walls.  Beyond,  dark  spruce  towered 
against  the  sky-line.  It  spread,  that  gloomy  mantle  of 
spruce,  illimitable  as  night  itself,  northward  to  the  fro 
zen  circle,  its  vast  expanse  unbroken  by  other  centre 
of  warmth  and  light.  Solitary  splash  of  life,  the  camp 
emphasized  the  profundities  of  environing  space,  accent 
uated  their  loneliness. 

Reining  in,  Carter  gazed  thoughtfully  at  this,  the  work 
of  his  hands.  The  clear  air  gave  him  many  voices.  He 
could  hear  Big  Hans  swearing  quaintly  in  the  stables. 
A  teamster  sang  on  his  way  to  the  cook-house.  An 
oblong  of  brighter  yellow  flashed  out  of  a  mass.  That 
was  the  cook-house  door  opening  to  admit  the  singer. 
Came  a  murmur  and  clatter  of  dishes;  then  light  and 
sound  vanished.  Suddenly,  far  off,  a  long  howl  troubled 
the  silence.  Wild,  mournful,  tremulous,  it  was  emble 
matic  of  his  problem.  Here,  a  hundred  miles  beyond 
the  stretch  of  the  law's  longest  finger,  the  law  of  the 
wolf  pack  still  obtained  —  only  the  strong  hand  could 
rule. 

The  howl  also  signalled  his  arrival  at  a  conclusion. 
"They're  at  supper,"  he  muttered.  "I'll  tackle  them 
there  an'  now." 

First  he  went  to  the  office,  a  rough  log-hut  which  he 
shared  with  Bender.  The  giant  lay,  smoking,  in  his 
bunk,  but  he  sprang  up  at  Carter's  news.  ' '  An'  I  busted 
the  head  of  the  Russian  on'y  yesterday  for  pitching  off 
a  load!  Who's  at  the  bottom  of  it?  Now  you've  got 
me.  Michigan  Red's  as  mean  as  any.  Jes'  this  morning 
he  busted  two  whiffle-trees  running,  an'  I  happened  along 


THE  CAMP 

jes'  in  time  to  save  the  third.  Of  course,  his  runners  was 
froze  down  hard,  an'  him  snapping  his  heavy  team  like 
all  get  out. 

"'From  your  looks,'  I  says  to  him,  'I'd  have  allowed 
you'd  sense  enough  to  loosen  your  bobs!'  He  on'y 
grinned.  'Clean  forgotten,  boss.  Kick  that  hinter 
bunker,  will  you?'  That  man,"  Bender  finished,  "has 
gall  enough  to  fix  out  a  right  smart  tannery." 

Carter  frowned.  The  man,  a  red-haired,  red-bearded 
fellow,  with  a  greenishly  pale  face  arid  cold,  bleak  eyes, 
had  come  in  from  the  wheat  settlements  about  the 
Prairie  Portage,  driving  a  huge  team  of  blacks.  The 
one,  a  stallion,  rose  sixteen  and  a  half  hands  to  the  crest 
of  his  swelling  shoulder.  Reputed  a  man -killer,  he 
wore  an  iron  muzzle  in  stable  or  out.  His  mate,  a  rat- 
tailed  mare,  equally  big,  differed  only  in  the  insignia 
of  wickedness,  wearing  a  kicking  -  strap  in  harness, 
a  log -chain  in  the  stable.  Man  and  team  were  well 
mated. 

"If  he'd  make  his  pick  on  me!"  Bender  growled  on, 
"'twould  have  been  pie -easy.  I'd  have  smashed  him 
one,  an'  you  could  have  handed  out  his  walking-papers. 
But  no!  It's  you  he's  laying  for.  'Your  boss  ain't 
big  enough  to  do  it,'  he  says,  when  I  tell  him  that 
there'll  be  other  things  than  busted  whiffle  -  trees  if 
he  don't  look  out.  'You're  a  privileged  character 
till  I'm  through  with  him/  An'  that's  just  the  way 
of  it.  He'll  swallow  all  I  kin  give  him  while  waiting 
for  you." 

Carter's  nod  confirmed  Bender's  reasoning.  No  one 
else  could  play  his  hand  in  this  game  of  men.  The  giant 
had  deferred  to  that  unwritten  law  of  the  woods  which 
reads  that  every  man  must  win  his  own  battles.  "Know 
anything  of  him?"  he  asked. 

"Cougar  ran  acrost  him  once  in  Michigan.  Don't  lay 

137 


THE  SETTLER 

no  stress  on  his  character,  but  says  he's  mighty  good 
with  his  hands." 

"Well,  come  along  to  the  cook-house." 

As  they  opened  the  cook-house  door  a  hundred  men^ 
looked  up  from  the  three  tables  which  ran  the  length 
of  the  long  log-hut.  These  bristled  with  tinware,  and 
between  them  and  the  stove  three  cookees  ran  back 
and  forth  with  smoking  platters  of  potatoes,  beans,  and 
bacon.  At  the  upper  end  a  reflector  lamp  shed  a  bright 
light  over  the  cook  and  his  pots;  but  tables  were  dimly 
lighted  by  candles  stuck  upright  at  intervals  in  their 
own  grease.  Their  feeble  flicker  threw  red  shirts  and 
dark,  hairy  faces  into  Rembrandt  shadow.  Hot,  oily, 
flushed  from  fast  and  heavy  eating,  intensely  animal, 
they  peered  through  the  reek  of  steaming  food  at  Carter. 

"I  won't  keep  you  a  minute,"  he  answered  the  resent 
ment  which  his  interruption  had  called  to  all  the  faces. 
"I  jes*  want  to  say  that  too  many  logs  have  been 
dumped  by  the  trail  of  late.  Now  if  any  teamster 
thinks  that  the  loaders  are  stacking  it  on  him,  he  can 
report  to  the  foreman,  who'll  see  him  righted.  But  if, 
after  this—" 

"More  beans!"  A  laugh  followed  the  harsh  interrup 
tion.  The  faces  turned  to  Michigan  Red.  When  the 
others  paused  he  had  continued  eating,  and  now,  his 
greenish  face  aglow  with  insolence,  he  was  holding  an 
empty  platter  out  to  the  nearest  cookee. 

It  was  a  difficult  situation.  There  was  no  mistaking 
his  intent,  yet  the  interruption  was  timed  so  cunningly 
as  to  leave  no  actual  cause  of  offence.  Behind  Carter, 
Bender  bristled  with  rage,  ready  to  sweep  casuistical 
distinctions  aside  with  his  fist.  Malignantly  curious,  the 
faces  turned  back  to  Carter. 

He  waited  quietly  till  the  red  teamster  was  served; 
paused  even  then,  for,  as  the  latter  fell  to  his  eating, 

138 


THE  CAMP 

shovelling  beans  into  his  mouth  with  knife  loaded  the 
length  of  the  blade,  Carter  experienced  an  uncomfortable 
twinge  of  memory.  The  squared  elbows,  nimble  knife, 
bent  head  grossly  caricatured  himself  in  the  first  days 
of  his  marriage,  and  vividly  recalled  Helen's  gentle  tute 
lage.  For  a  second  he  saw  himself  with  her  eyes,  then 
pride  thrust  away  the  vision. 

"After  this  " — he  began  where  he  had  left  off — "any 
teamster  who  dumps  a  load  without  permission  or 
good  cause  will  be  docked  time  and  charged  for  his 
board." 

"More  pork!"  It  was  the  red  teamster  again.  Rest 
ing  an  elbow  on  the  table  while  he  held  out  the  plate 
behind  him,  he  permitted  his  bleak  glance  to  wander 
along  the  grins  till  it  brought  up  on  Carter. 

Choking  with  anger,  Bender  stepped,  but  Carter  laid 
a  hand  on  his  arm  while  he  spoke  to  the  cook.  "This 
man  has  a  tape-worm.  Send  him  the  pot." 

Blunt  and  to  the  point,  the  answer  exactly  suited 
lumberman  primitive  humor.  As  the  door  closed  behind 
them  Bender's  chuckles  echoed  the  men's  roaring  laugh. 
"Fixed  him  that  time,"  he  commented.  "But  he  come 
back  right  smart." 

"Can't  come  too  soon.     It  all  helps  to  fill  in." 

Bender  sensed  the  sadness  in  his  tone,  and  the  big 
heart  of  him  was  troubled.  These  months  past  he  had 
seen  Carter  pile  task  on  task,  seeking  an  anodyne  for 
unhappiness  in  ceaseless  toil.  Every  night  the  office 
lights  burned  unholy  hours.  Waking  this  particular 
night,  long  after  twelve,  Bender  saw  that  Carter  was 
still  at  his  desk. 

"Time  you  hired  a  book-keeper,"  he  remonstrated. 
"Trail  you  are  travelling  ends  in  the  'sylum." 

"Book-keeper  couldn't  do  this  work." 

"No?"     Bender  sat  up.     "What's  the  brand?" 

139 


THE  SETTLER 

"Figuring — grading  contrac's,  bridges,  trestles,  tim 
bering." 

"For  what?" 

"A  railroad." 

Bender  snorted.  "Shore!  You  ain't  surely  calculat 
ing  on  the  C.  P.'s  building  the  branch?" 

"No." 

The  monosyllable  discouraged  further  questioning, 
but  Bender  stuck  to  his  main  objection.  "Well,  if  you 
keep  this  gait  you'll  railroad  yourself  into  the  graveyard. 
It  is  two  now;  at  five  you'll  be  out  with  the  loaders." 

"Correct." 

The  giant  straightened  up  in  his  bunk.  "Good  God, 
man!  Don't  you  never  sleep?" 

"I'll  sleep  to-morrow  night.     Now,  shut  up!" 

Growling,  Bender  subsided,  and  long  after  he  had  slid 
again  into  the  land  of  dreams,  Carter  stared  at  the  op 
posite  wall  with  eyes  that  gave  him  neither  the  bales, 
boxes,  ranged  along  its  length,  nor  the  shirts,  socks, 
overalls,  and  other  lumbermen's  supplies  on  the  rough 
shelving.  He  saw  only  Helen's  flower  face  blossoming 
out  of  the  blackness  of  the  far  corner. 

The  replica  of  himself  that  he  had  seen  that  night  in 
Michigan  Red  was  but  the  climax  of  similar,  if  milder, 
experiences.  Naturally  enough,  his  Winnipeg  trips  had 
brought  him  in  contact  with  people  of  more  or  less  re 
finement.  He  met  them  at  hotels,  or  in  the  parlors  of 
his  business  acquaintances  when,  as  sometimes  happened, 
they  invited  him  to  dinner.  Such  circumstances  had 
simply  forced  him  to  set  a  guard  on  his  speech  and 
manners — to  imitate  those  about  him.  There  had  been 
nothing  slavish  in  his  imitation — no  subtraction  from  the 
force  of  his  personality.  It  was  rather  the  grafting  of 
the  strong,  wild  plant  with  the  fruit  of  hot-house  culture. 
It  inhered  in  a  dawning  realization  that  manners,  cour- 

140 


THE  CAMP 

tesy,  social  customs  were  based  on  consideration  for  oth 
ers'  happiness,  besides  being  pleasant  of  themselves. 

Not  that  he  was  ready  to  admit  the  fact  as  sufficient 
excuse  for  Helen's  treatment  of  himself.  Hurt  pride 
forbade.  "She  didn't  give  me  a  chance,"  he  murmured. 
"I'd  have  come  to  it — in  time.  She  was  ashamed." 

Yet  each  concession  to  social  custom  became  an  argu 
ment  for  her,  and  was  turned  against  him  in  the  nightly 
conflict  between  pride,  passion,  love,  and  reason.  Often 
love  would  nearly  win.  .While  her  face  smiled  from  the 
corner,  love  would  whisper:  "She  is  yours.  Six  hours' 
ride  will  take  you  to  her." 

But  pride  always  answered,  "Wait  till  she  sends  for 
you."  And  he  would  turn  again  to  his  figuring. 

For  pride  had  enlisted  ambition  in  its  aid.  Long  ago 
his  clear  sight  had  shown  him  the  need  of  a  competing 
railroad,  and  gradually  a  scheme  had  grown  upon  him. 
What  man  had  done,  man  could  do.  If  a  great  trunk 
road  could  develop  from  the  imagination  of  one  man,  a 
transverse  line  that  should  strike  south  and  find  an 
outlet  on  the  American  border  could  hatch  from  the 
brain  of  another.  He  would  build  it  himself.  Already 
he  had  broached  the  matter  to  his  financial  backers,  and 
they  had  given  it  favorable  consideration — more,  were 
interesting  other  capitalists  in  the  project.  So,  in  camp, 
on  trail,  his  every  spare  moment  was  given  to  the  work 
ing  out  of  construction  estimates. 

Only  once  was  his  resolution  shaken.  From  Lone  Tree 
the  camp  "tote"  trail  slid  due  northeast,  passing  the 
settlements  a  half-dozen  miles  to  the  east.  Save  on  this 
one  occasion,  when  the  need  of  men  and  teams  caused 
him  to  take  the  other,  he  always  used  the  "tote"  trail. 
And  even  this  time  he  did  not  dally  in  the  settlements. 
Having  advertised  his  need  at  the  Assiniboin  mission, 
Flynn's,  and  the  post-office,  he  headed  up  for  the  camp 

141 


THE  SETTLER 

as  dusk  blanketed  the  prairies.  Dark  brought  him  to 
his  own  forks,  where,  reining  in,  he  gazed  long  at  a 
yellow  blotch  on  the  night,  his  own  kitchen  light.  A 
five-minute  trot  would  put  him  with  her!  Love  urged 
go!  Pride  said  nay!  And  while  they  battled  his  ponies 
shivered  in  the  bitter  wind.  He  waited,  waited,  waited. 
Which  would  have  won  out  will  never  be  known,  for 
presently  a  cutter  dashed  out  of  the  gloom,  swung  round 
on  his  trail,  and,  as  he  turned  out  to  let  it  by,  he  caught 
voices,  Helen's  and  Mrs.  Leslie's,  in  lively  chatter. 

Leaning  over,  he  lashed  his  ponies,  raced  them  into 
the  camp. 

After  that  he  turned  with  renewed  assiduity  to  his 
figures.  Still,  they  are  dry  things,  matters  of  intellect, 
useless  for  the  alleviation  of  feeling.  One  emotion  re 
quires  another  for  its  cure,  and  the  trouble  with  Michigan 
Red  promised  more  forgetfulness  than  could  be  obtained 
from  the  most  intricate  calculations.  That  is  why  he 
had  said,  "He  can't  come  back  too  soon." 

He  quickened  at  the  thought  of  the  coming  struggle. 
In  himself  the  red  teamster  embodied  the  envy,  spite, 
disaffection  which,  from  the  first,  had  clogged  Carter's 
enterprise.  He  materialized  the  vexatious  forces,  im 
palpable  things  that  Carter  had  been  fighting,  and  he 
felt  the  relief  which  conies  to  the  man  who  at  last  drives 
a  mysterious  enemy  out  to  the  open. 


XIV 

THE    RED    TEAMSTER 

A3  Bender  prophesied,  Michigan  Red  came  back 
"right  smartly." 

The  following  Sunday  was  one  of  those  rare  winter 
days  when  the  mercury  crawls  out  of  its  ball  sufficiently 
to  register  a  point  or  two.  At  noon  the  silver  column  in 
dicated  only  four  below  zero,  and,  accustomed  to  sterner 
temperatures,  the  men  lolled  about  the  camp  bare 
headed  and  shirt-sleeved.  One  hardy  group  was  running 
a  poker  game  on  a  blanket  under  the  sunny  lea  of  a  bunk- 
house;  the  younger  men,  choppers  and  teamsters,  sky 
larked  about  the  camp  essaying  feats  of  strength:  some 
tossed  the  caber,  others  put  the  shot,  a  third  squad  startled 
the  forest  with  the  platoon  fire  of  a  whip-cracking  con 
test.  Standing  in  his  doorway,  the  cook,  autocrat  of  the 
camp,  remarked  patronizingly  on  the  latter  performance. 

"Pretty  fair,"  he  judicially  observed,  as  one  young 
fellow  raised  the  echoes  —  "pretty  fair,  Carrots,  but 
Sliver  there  has  you  beat.  Needn't  to  look  so  cocky, 
though,  Sliver,"  he  qualified  his  praise,  "or  I'll  call  up 
Michigan  to  teach  you  how  to  crack  a  whip." 

"Oh,  shucks!  I  ain't  scared  o'  him,"  Sliver  grinned. 
Then,  rising  to  his  slim  height,  he  writhed  body  and  arm 
and  let  forth  a  veritable  feu  de  joie. 

"You  would,  would  you?"  the  cook  warned.  "Here, 
Red!"  he  called  to  the  gamblers.  "Get  up  an'  give  this 
kid  a  lesson." 

143 


THE  SETTLER 

"You  go  plumb  to — "  The  location  was  drowned  by 
Sliver's  second  volley. 

"Oh,  come,  Red!"  the  cook  urged.  "This  kid  makes 
me  tired." 

The  red  teamster  went  on  playing,  and  would,  no 
doubt,  have  indefinitely  continued  the  game  but  that, 
looking  up  to  curse  the  importunate  cook,  he  saw  the 
stable  roustabout  interestedly  watching  the  whip -crack 
ers.  A  man  in  years,  the  latter  was  a  child  in  intellect, 
simple  to  the  point  of  half-wittedness.  Picking  him  up, 
starving,  in  Winnipeg,  Carter  had  brought  him  up  to  the 
camp  early  in  the  winter,  and  ever  since  he  had  served 
as  a  butt  for  the  camp's  jokes. 

Michigan  rose.     "Lend  me  your  whip,  Carrots!" 

"Now  you'll  see!"  the  cook  confidently  affirmed,  as 
the  long  lash  writhed  about  Michigan's  head.  Explod 
ing,  it  sent  a  trail  of  echoes  coursing  through  the  forest. 
As  is  the  pop  of  a  pistol  to  the  roar  of  a  cannon,  so  was 
his  volley  compared  to  that  of  Sliver.  Then,  to  prove 
himself  in  accuracy,  Michigan  snapped  a  fly  from  the 
cook's  bare  arm. 

"A  trifle  close,"  he  exclaimed,  rubbing  the  spot.  "Do 
it  ag'in,  Red,  an*  I  cut  out  your  Sunday  pudding." 

Grinning,  Michigan  swung  again,  turned,  as  the  lash 
writhed  in  mid-air,  and  cracked  it  explosively  within  an 
inch  of  the  roustabout's  ear.  "Stan'  still,  you  son  of  a 
gun!"  he  swore,  as  the  poor  simpleton  flinched.  "Keep 
him  in,  boys.  Stan'  still,  or  I'll  take  it  clean  off  nex' 
crack.  .  .  .  Now  we'll  play  you've  a  fly  on  the  tip  of 
your  nose." 

The  play  was  too  realistic,  drawing  a  spot  of  blood. 
Yelling  with  pain,  the  roustabout  swore,  begged,  pleaded 
piteously  to  be  let  alone.  But  a  circle  of  grinning  team 
sters  hedged  him  in  on  all  sides  save  where  the  red 
teamster  stood  with  his  whip.  Man,  in  the  aggregate,  is 

144 


THE  RED  TEAMSTER 

always  cruel.  Let  a  few  hundred  blameless  citizens, 
fathers  of  families,  husbands,  brothers,  be  gathered  to 
gether  and  flicked  with  passion's  whip,  and  you  have  a 
mob  equal  to  the  barbarities  of  Caligula.  And  these 
men  were  raw,  wild  as  the  woods.  Shoving  the  simple 
ton  back  whenever  he  tried  to  break,  they  stood  grin 
ning  while  Michigan  cut  cracking  circles  about  his  head. 
Sometimes  his  hair  moved  under  the  wind  of  the  lash; 
sometimes  it  grazed  his  nose.  There  was  no  telling 
where  it  would  explode.  He  could  not  dodge  it.  Try 
ing,  the  whip  drew  blood  from  his  neck. 

"Stan'  still,  then!"  the  red  teamster  answered  his  yell 
of  pain.  "I  ain't  responsible  for  your  cavortings." 

"Spoiling  Red's  aim!"  the  cook  admonished,  severely. 
"I  never  seed  your  like!" 

"  Now  open  your  mouth  wide,"  the  tormentor  went  on. 
"I'm  agoin'  to  put  the  tip  in  your  mouth  without  tech- 
in'  your  lips — if  you  don't  move.  Open  wide!" 

But  the  man's  small  wits  were  now  completely  gone. 
He  opened  his  mouth  obediently,  then,  uttering  a  scream, 
a  raucous,  animal  cry,  he  sprang  at  his  tormentor.  But 
a  dozen  hands  seized  and  dragged  him  back. 

"Hold  him,  boys!  I'll  skin  the  tip  of  his  nose  for 
that." 

As  Michigan  swung  his  whip  the  roustabout  sent  forth 
scream  on  scream.  Foam  gathered  on  his  lips.  Terror 
had  driven  him  insane. 

"No,  no!"  the  cook  remonstrated.  "That's  enough, 
Red— that's  enough!" 

Unheeding,  the  teamster  took  aim,  swung,  then — 
another  lash  tangled  in  his.  Yelling  with  the  sudden 
pain  of  a  twisted  wrist,  he  swung  round  on  Carter. 
Unobserved,  he  had  run  across  from  his  office,  snatched 
up  Sliver's  whip,  tangled  Michigan's  lash,  and  jerked  it 
over  his  shoulder. 

145 


THE  SETTLER 

"Boys" — he  now  faced  the  flushed  crowd — "I  don't 
allow  to  mix  up  with  your  fun,  but  what  do  you  call 
this?" 

One  glance  at  the  bloody  weal  on  the  roustabout's 
neck  and  the  brutal  mob  resolved  into  its  individual 
components,  each  a  unit  of  sorrow  for  its  share  in  the 
torture. 

"Jest  a  poor  fool  at  that."  Carter  laid  his  hand  on 
the  simpleton's  shoulder. 

"Shore,  shore!  Yes!"  the  cook  agreed.  " It's  too  bad. 
We  didn't  go  to  do  that.  No.  We  jest  calculated  to 
have  a  little  fun,  an'  carried  it  a  leetle  too  far." 

"That's  so!  That's  so!"  Carrots,  Smith,  and  Sliver 
all  seconded  the  cook,  all  voicing  repentant  public 
opinion. 

"No,  Red  didn't  go  to  do  that,"  the  cook  continued. 
"He  moved.  Red  didn't  mean  it;  did  you,  Red?" 

After  that  one  yell  of  pain  the  red  teamster's  eyes 
had  glued  to  a  handspike  which  lay  near  by.  But  the 
useless  wrist  checked  the  impulse,  and  he  stood,  sullenly 
noting  changed  opinion. 

"Is  this  a  Sunday-school?"  he  answered,  sneering. 
' '  Or  mebbe  a  Young  Folks'  Christian  Endeavor  ?  Sliver, 
what's  the  golden  text?" 

"Oh,  shore,  Red!"  Sliver  remonstrated. 

"It's  this."  Carter  looked  round  the  group.  "Any 
man  who  lays  a  hand  on  this  poor  lad  again  gets  his 
time."  His  glance  fixed  on  Michigan  Red. 

The  red  teamster  shrugged.  His  chance  had  gone  by, 
and  he  was  acute  enough  to  recognize  the  fact.  Not 
that  he  lacked  courage  or  strength  to  try  it  out,  man 
for  man — bite,  gouge,  kick,  in  the  brutal  fashion  of  the 
lumber  woods.  Taken  by  surprise,  he  had  lost  his 
vantage,  and  now  saw  that  his  adversary  had  cleverly 
ranged  against  him  an  adverse  opinion. 

146 


THE  RED  TEAMSTER 

"It's  not  him  I'm  laying  for,"  he  growled.  "Some 
other  day!" 

The  "other  day"  came  a  week  later.  Entering  the 
stables  at  noon  in  search  of  Brady,  the  water-hauler, 
Carter  saw  the  red  teamster  perched  on  the  top  rail  of 
the  black  stallion's  stall,  in  his  hand  the  iron  muzzle 
which  he  had  unstrapped  that  the  brute  might  feed  with 
ease.  As  the  beast  snapped,  rather  than  ate,  his  oats, 
he  cast  vicious,  uneasy  glances  from  the  tail  of  his  eye 
at  Red;  but,  indifferent  to  the  brute's  mood  and  the 
anxious  glances  of  his  fellows,  the  teamster  calmly 
chewed  his  tobacco. 

It  was  by  just  such  tricks  that  he  had  gained  ascen 
dency  over  his  fellows.  Whereas  it  was  worth  another 
man's  life  to  step  into  their  stall,  the  blacks  would  stand 
and  sweat  in  rage  and  fear  while  Michigan  slapped  and 
poked  their  ribs.  The  devil  in  the  beasts  seemed  to 
recognize  a  superior  in  the  pale-green  fiend  in  the  man. 

"Brady  here?"  Carter  asked.     "Oh,  there  you  are!" 

He  stood  immediately  behind  the  stallion,  and  as  he 
spoke  Michigan  brought  the  iron  muzzle  down  with  a 
thwack  on  the  brute's  ribs.  Snorting,  it  lashed  out, 
just  missing  Carter.  One  huge,  steel-shod  heel,  indeed, 
passed  on  either  side  of  his  head.  Under  such  circum 
stances  a  start  was  a  little  more  than  justifiable;  yet 
after  that  tribute  to  surprise  Carter  stepped  quietly 
beyond  range  and  went  on  talking  to  Brady. 

"This  aftemoon  you  can  hitch  to  the  water-cart  an' 
ice  the  track  in  to  them  new  skidways." 

Then,  turning,  he  eyed  Michigan  Red.  "That's  a 
techy  beast  of  yourn,  friend." 

"Techy?"  Michigan  sneered.  "There  ain't  another 
man  in  this  camp  as  kin  put  the  leathers  on  him!" 

"No?" 

147 


THE  SETTLER 

"No!"  Swinging  his  heels  against  the  stall,  Michigan 
added,  "Not  a  damned  man." 

Picking  up  a  spear  of  hay,  Carter  chewed  it  while  he 
looked  over  the  beast,  now  foaming  with  rage.  It  was 
a  dare.  He  knew  it — saw  also  the  amused  interest  in 
the  on-lookers.  They  felt  Michigan  had  him  in  the  door. 
"The  leathers,"  he  remarked,  "are  on  him." 

It  was  a  skilful  move,  throwing  the  initiative  back  to 
the  teamster.  Not  one  whit  fazed,  however,  he  ex 
claimed,  in  mock  surprise,  "Why,  damme,  so  they  are!" 
Sliding  down,  he  laid  a  hand  on  the  stallion's  crest. 
Instantly  the  brute  ceased  his  plunging,  uneasy  stepping, 
and  while  the  man  stripped  off  the  harness  only  long, 
slow  shivers  told  of  smothered  fury. 

"There  you  are!"  He  threw  collar  and  harness  at 
Carter's  feet. 

"Look  here,  boss!"  Brady  remonstrated,  as  Carter 
picked  them  up.  "I  wouldn't  go  to  do  it.  Shure  I 
wouldn't.  The  baste  is  a  man -killer  be  Red's  own 
word.  Luk  at  him  for  the  proof." 

Ears  laid  flat  to  his  neck,  glossy  hide  shivering,  the 
whites  of  his  eyes  showing  viciously,  chisel  teeth  pro 
truding  through  grinning  lips,  the  stallion's  appearance 
bore  out  his  reputation. 

"I  wouldn't!"  a  dozen  teamsters  chorused. 

Unheeding,  Carter  entered  the  stall.  As  he  ranged 
alongside,  the  stallion  tried  to  rear,  but  was  snapped 
back  by  his  halter-chain.  So  foiled,  he  humped  his 
shoulders,  dropping  his  head  between  his  knees;  then, 
just  when  the  teamsters  expected  to  see  the  sixteen 
hundred  pounds  of  him  grind  Carter  against  the  stall, 
he  suddenly  straightened  and  stood  still  as  before,  save 
for  the  slow  shivers. 

"Mother  of  God!"  Brady  exclaimed.  "What  '11  that 
mane?" 

148 


THE  RED  TEAMSTER 

Carter's  hand  rested  on  the  beast's  crest.  What  did 
it  mean?  Only  the  red  teamster  knew.  But  whether 
the  animal  shook  to  the  memory  of  some  torture,  or 
merely  mistook  the  firm  hand  for  that  of  his  master,  he 
moved  but  once  while  Carter  adjusted  and  buckled  the 
harness.  That  was  at  the  cinching  of  the  bellyband; 
but  he  quickly  quieted.  The  click  of  the  breeching- 
snaps  sounded  like  breaking  sticks  through  the  stable, 
and  as  he  stepped  out  from  the  stall  a  score  of  breaths 
issued  in  one  huge  sigh. 

"Now  hurry,  Brady,"  he  said.  "The  job  will  keep 
you  humping  till  sundown." 

Respectful  glances  followed  him  away  from  the  stable. 
He  had  touched  his  men  in  a  vulnerable  spot,  and  though, 
hereafter,  they  might  growl  and  grumble — the  lumber 
man's  sole  relaxation — he  could  count  on  a  fair  amount 
of  obedience  from  all  but  such  malingerers  as  Shinn  and 
Hines,  or  a  natural  anarchist  like  Michigan  Red.  The 
latter  took  on  the  yoke  of  authority  only  to  defy  it; 
and  though  even  his  bleak  face  lit  up  as  sunlight  strug 
gles  through  frost  of  a  winter's  morning,  he  soon  found 
cause  for  further  trouble. 

Dropping  into  the  smith's  shop  a  few  days  later, 
Carter  found  Seebach,  the  German  smith,  ruefully  con 
templating  a  half-dozen  disabled  sleds.  "Herr  Gott!" 
he  exclaimed.  "In  one  half-day  these  haf  come  in. 
Alretty  yet  I  works  like  t'ree  tefils,  an'  this  iss  the 
leedle  games  they  play  on  me.  It  is  that  you  gifs  me  a 
helper  or  I  quit — eh?" 

Too  surprised  to  laugh  over  the  other's  ludicrous 
anger,  Carter  puzzled  over  the  breakage.  As  aforesaid, 
the  sleds  had  been  built  on  his  own  plans  to  carry 
enormous  loads.  To  four-by-six  runners,  shod  with  an 
inch  of  steel,  hardwood  bunkers  a  foot  square  were 
fastened  with  solid  iron  knees  braced  with  inch  strap- 
xi  149 


THE  SETTLER 

iron.  Every  bolt  and  pin  was  on  the  same  massive  plan. 
The  best  of  a  dozen  patterns  of  as  many  logging-camps 
had  gone  into  the  making  of  those  sleds.  Yet,  though 
they  ought  to  have  been  good  for  twenty  tons  on  the 
roughest  kind  of  a  road,  they  were  racked,  split,  or 
twisted,  bunkers  torn  off,  ironwork  on  all  badly  sprung. 

Carter  whistled.     "  How  did  they  do  it  ?" 

"Brady,  he  says  it  vas  the  new  roat  into  the  pridge 
timbers.  In  one  place  it  goes  like  hell  over  a  pank  down 
to  a  lake,  with  a  quick  turn  at  the  pottom.  'The  Pig 
Glide,'  Brady  calls  it." 

"I'll  go  out  an'  look  at  it." 

A  half -hour's  walk  brought  him  to  the  hill.  Debouch 
ing  from  heavy  timber,  the  trail  inclined  for  two  hundred 
yards,  then  sheered  down  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  de 
grees  to  a  lake  below.  As  the  smith  had  said,  an  abrupt 
turn  at  the  bottom  added  to  the  trail's  difficulties.  Too 
steep  for  ice-sledding,  hay  had  been  spread  over  the  face 
of  the  hill,  and  with  this  to  ease  the  descent  Carter 
could  see  no  reason  for  the  broken  sleds. 

A  man  had  been  told  off  to  respread  the  hay  after 
each  passage,  and  he  grinned  at  Carter's  question. 
"Bust  'em  here?  You  bet!  How?  Well,  they  come 
down  on  a  gallop.  Teams  is  coming  now,  so  if  you  set 
down  in  the  scrub  there  you'll  see  'em  do  it." 

It  was  as  he  said.  One  after  the  other  the  teams 
emerged  from  the  forest,  gathered  speed  on  the  incline, 
and  came  flying  down  the  hill,  the  great  sleds  cracking 
and  groaning  under  the  strain  of  enormous  loads  as  they 
skidded  around  the  bottom  turn.  Michigan  Red  came 
last,  and  Carter's  anger  could  not  altogether  drown  a 
thrill  as  he  watched  the  red  teamster  take  the  hill. 
Whooping,  whip-cracking,  blacks  stretched  on  the  gallop, 
he  tore  down  that  plumb  hill-side  and  skidded  round  the 
turn,  load  balanced  on  one  runner.  It  split,  with  a 

150 


THE  RED  TEAMSTER 

pistol  report,  but  the  steel  shoe  held  and  he  passed 
safely  on  and  down  the  lake. 

"He  was  the  first  to  cut  loose,"  the  trackman  ex 
plained.  "T'others  followed  his  dare." 

"Well,  they'll  have  to  quit  it.  Warn  each  man,  Joe, 
an'  report  all  to  me  that  disobey." 

When,  that  evening,  Joe  reported  that  all  but  Michigan 
Red  had  obeyed  the  order,  he  sensed  hot  anger  under  the 
boss's  calm.  Expecting  an  explosion,  he  was  the  more 
surprised  when,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  Carter  dis 
missed  him  with  an  order  to  take  a  couple  of  hand- 
rakes  out  on  the  job  the  following  morning.  To  the 
Cougar  he  gave  orders  that  the  red  teamster  was  to  load 
last.  Obedient,  the  Cougar  sent  Michigan  Red  to  break 
track  into  a  new  skidway;  thus  all  of  his  fellows  had 
passed  on  down  the  glide  while  Michigan  was  still 
loading. 

"Load  him  light — dry  logs,  an*  not  too  many,"  Carter 
had  ordered.  But,  incensed  at  the  delay,  the  teamster 
indulged  in  such  sarcastic  allusions  to  the  frailty  of  the 
loaders'  female  ancestors  that  the  ribald  crew  piled  the 
logs  on  till  his  load  bulked  like  a  hay-stack.  None  other 
than  the  blacks  could  have  started  the  sled  out  from  the 
skids;  and  while,  with  jerks  and  sudden  snatches,  the 
fierce  brutes  worked  it  out  of  deep  snow  to  the  iced 
tracks,  the  loaders  looked  admiringly  on.  It  was  a  tri 
umph  in  driving.  Man  and  team  worked  like  a  clock, 
and,  returning  blasphemous  answers  to  the  loaders'  com 
pliments,  Michigan  slid  off  down  the  trail. 

To  make  up  for  his  lost  time,  he  urged  the  blacks  to  a 
trot,  and  so  came  swinging  down  the  incline  at  twice  his 
usual  speed.  Not  till  he  reached  the  very  edge  did  he 
see  that  the  hay  had  been  raked  off  the  face  of  the  hill. 
A  mask  of  ice,  it  glittered  in  the  sun. 

Half-way  down  Carter  stood  with  Joe.     Looking  up, 


THE  SETTLER 

they  saw  Michigan  poised  on  the  top  log,  a  red,  sinister 
figure  against  the  sky.  He  seemed  to  pause,  throw  back 
on  his  lines  —  a  quick,  involuntary  movement.  Then, 
craning  forward,  he  glanced  down  that  glittering  stretch 
— -a  comprehensive  look  that  took  in  Carter,  Joe,  and 
their  plan. 

"Give  him  a  forkful  under  the  runners  as  he  goes  by," 
Carter  whispered.  "Otherwise  we'll  kill  his  team." 

A  second,  as  aforesaid,  the  red  teamster  paused;  then, 
loosing  his  lines,  he  leaned  over  and  lashed  the  stallion 
under  the  soft  of  the  belly. 

"My  God!"  Joe  cried. 

He  saw  the  black  brute  rear,  snorting — saw  the  black- 
snake  bite  the  mare's  flank — saw  the  pair  plunge  over 
the  grade;  then  water  bathed  his  eyes.  He  heard,  how 
ever — heard  the  rush  and  roar,  a  thunder  of  hoofs  as  the 
long,  steel  calkings  cut  through  the  ice  and  struck  fire 
from  the  face  of  the  hill.  He  felt  the  wind  as  the  sled 
passed,  and  waited  for  the  crash — which  did  not  come. 

A  voice,  cold,  deliberate,  restored  his  vision.  "I 
didn't  think  it  was  in  horse-flesh."  Carter  was  gazing 
after  team  and  sled,  now  a  black  patch  on  the  snow  of 
the  lake.  "Beat  us  this  time,  Joe,"  he  continued;  "but 
we'll  fix  him  to-morrow." 

That  evening,  however,  the  red  teamster  enjoyed  the 
fruits  of  his  exploit.  It  seasoned  the  beans  at  supper, 
sweetened  the  stable  choring.  Opinion  agreed  that  it 
was  now  "up"  to  the  boss,  but  split  on  his  probable 
action,  one-half  the  stable  agreeing  with  Hines  that 
Michigan  surely  earned  his  discharge,  the  other  half 
holding  that  settlement  by  battle  would  be  the  certain 
ending.  Neither  event,  however,  had  come  to  pass  by 
bedtime,  and  the  mystery  was  intensified  by  the  chuck- 
lings  of  the  road  gang,  which  came  in  from  work  long 
after  the  teamsters  retired.  Next  morning,  too,  the 

152 


THE  RED  TEAMSTER 

loaders — evidently  in  the  secret — added  to  the  suspense 
by  asking  the  teamsters  if  they  intended  to  toboggan 
down  the  glide  that  trip. 

"Bet  you  don't!"  they  yelled  after  Michigan  Red. 

Though  not  exactly  nervous,  the  mystery  yet  affected 
the  red  teamster.  As  his  load  slid  through  the  forest 
uneasiness  manifested  itself  in  thoughtful  whistlings, 
broken  song  snatches,  unnecessary  talk  to  his  horses. 
Not  that  he  was  a  whit  afraid.  The  half-dozen  or  so 
men  whom  he  expected  would  try  to  enforce  the  new 
order  could  not  have  prevented  him  from  at  least  send 
ing  his  team  at  the  grade.  The  fierce  soul  of  him  thrilled 
at  the  thought  of  opposition,  and,  coming  out  of  the 
forest,  he  set  a  pace  that  would  have  ridden  down 
opposition. 

But  he  reined  in  at  the  hill.  Instead  of  the  force  of 
his  imaginings,  only  Joe  Legault  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
glide.  The  hay  had  been  respread  on  its  face,  but — 
the  road  gang  had  built  a  rough  bridge  over  a  deep  gully, 
and  now  the  glide  led,  straight  as  an  arrow,  out  to  the 
lake.  The  racking  curve  was  utterly  abolished. 

Grinning,  Joe  said:  "The  boss  allows  that  it's  your 
privilege  to  kill  your  own  horses.  So  go  it  if  you 
wanter.  Hain't  going  to  hurt  his  sleds  none." 

Michigan  walked  his  horses. 

Carter  had  won  out.  Moreover,  he  had  done  it  with 
out  the  loss  of  prestige  that  would  have  ensued  by  the 
usual  brutal  methods  in  vogue  in  lumber-camps.  Law, 
of  a  man  or  people,  cannot  endure,  of  course,  without 
force  behind  it.  '  Yet  behind  his  imperturbability,  quiet 
taciturnity,  the  men  felt  the  power  to  enforce  his  com 
mands.  So  his  authority  was  no  more  called  in  question. 
Not  that  envious  spite  ceased  to  dog  him.  Hines,  Shinn, 
and  their  coterie  stood  always  ready  to  stir  up  discontent, 
foment  trouble. 


THE  SETTLER 

It  was  their  sympathy  that  catised  the  cook  to  main 
tain  one  can  of  poor  baking-powder  to  be  valid  excuse 
for  leaving.  But  Carter  disposed  of  minor  troubles  with 
the  same  easy  good-humor  that  he  had  given  to  big  ones. 

"I  reckon  you've  been  scandalously  mistreated,"  he 
told  the  cook.  "  I'm  right  sorry  to  lose  you.  Must  you 
go?" 

Mollified,  the  cook  stayed. 

Then  Baldy,  chief  of  the  "tote "-trail  teamsters,  rose 
to  the  point  that  "thirty  him 'red  was  load  enough  for 
drifted  trails." 

"Thirty  it  is,  Baldy,"  Carter  cheerfully  answered,  and 
Baldy  yanked  forty  and  forty-five  hundred  all  winter 
over  the  worst  of  trails. 

He  had  proved  himself  in  the  mastership  of  men  just 
at  the  time  that  opportunity  was  holding  out  her  hand, 
and  proof  and  fruit  of  his  winning  came  the  very  day 
that  saw  the  last  load  delivered  at  the  dumps.  "It  is  a 
go!"  The  wire  which  announced,  with  this  bit  of  slang, 
the  successful  financing  of  his  railroad  projects  was 
brought  in  by  Baldy  from  Lone  Tree,  and  with  it  but 
toned  against  his  heart  Carter  made  his  way  to  the 
stables  where  the  teamsters  were,  as  they  thought,  bed 
ding  up  for  the  last  time. 

"We  have  feed  for  three  months  left,"  he  said,  "and 
I  can  promise  work  through  the  summer.  At  what  ?"  He 
turned,  smiling,  on  Brady.  "Never  mind;  all  those  that 
want  it  kin  have  it  till  freeze-up.  In  the  mean  time  I'll 
feed  an'  care  for  your  teams  till  the  log-drive  is  down." 

Grumblers  from  the  cradle,  kickers  born,  teamsters 
and  choppers  had  looked  forward  to  this  last  day  in 
camp,  swearing  all  that  ten  dollars  a  day  would  not  hire 
them  for  an  hour  longer.  No,  sirree — not  an  hour!  Now 
they  looked  their  doubt. 

"What's  the  pay?"  Brady  asked. 

154 


THE  RED  TEAMSTER 

"Half  a  dollar  a  day  more'n  you're  getting." 

"That  beats  farming  in  these  parts.  You  kin  sign 
me,  boss." 

And  me — me — me!  The  answers  floated  in  from  all 
over  the  stable.  Only  a  few  of  the  older  men  elected  to 
return  to  their  farms,  and  after  all  had  spoken  Carter 
turned  to  Michigan  Red,  who  occupied  his  old  perch  on 
the  stallion's  stall. 

"Well,  Red?" 

"Didn't  s'pose  you'd  need  me." 

Carter  went  on  writing.  He  could  afford  to  be  gener 
ous.  He  had  beaten  the  man  at  every  point ;  to  retain 
him  where  another  would  have  discharged  him  was,  in 
deed,  the  crowning  of  his  victory,  and  Michigan  knew  it. 
Had  he  doubted,  he  had  but  to  read  it  in  the  counte 
nances  of  his  fellows.  A  good  gambler,  however,  he  hid 
resentment,  and  where  a  poor  loser  would  have  taken 
his  discharge  he  accepted  re-employment. 

His  red  beard  split  in  a  sneering  grin.  "Oh,  guess  I'll 
trouble  you  for  a  little  longer." 

The  day  was  eventful  for  another  reason.  Coming  up 
from  a  short  visit  to  the  settlements,  Bender  handed 
Carter  a  letter  that  evening,  the  superscription  of  which 
sent  the  dark  blood  flooding  over  his  neck,  for  it  was 
the  first  he  had  seen  of  Helen's  writing  these  months. 
Was  this  the  answer  of  his  longing?  Had  she  sent — at 
last?  His  fingers  trembled  as  he  tore  the  wrapping, 
then  he  paused,  staring.  It  was  his  last  check,  returned 
without  an  explanatory  scrap. 

"She's  hired  to  teach  her  old  school  again."  Bender 
answered  his  blank  look. 


XV 

TRAVAIL 

IF  the  white  months  seemed  to  lag  with  Carter  up 
at  the  camp,  they  dragged  wearily  with  Helen  down 
in  the  settlements.  Christmas  had  been  particularly 
dreary,  for  it  did  not  require  a  woman's  marvellous 
memory  for  anniversaries  for  her  to  live  over  again  every 
incident  and  experience  of  last  Yuletide.  In  their  living- 
room  Carter  had  built  a  chimney  and  fireplace  of  mud, 
Cree  style,  and  on  Christmas  Eve  she  had  cuddled  in 
against  his  broad  breast  and  talked  of  a  sweet  possibility. 
They  had  the  usual  pretty  quarrel  over  sex  and  names — 
has  the  tongue  one  good  enough  for  the  first-born? 
Then  he  had  hung  her  stocking,  and  none  other  would 
suit  him,  forsooth,  but  the  one  she  was  wearing.  He  had 
laughed  away  her  blushing  protestations,  and  had  kissed 
the  white  foot  and  toes  that  squirmed  in  his  big  hand. 
Sitting  alone  this  Christmas,  she  had  blushed  at  the 
memory;  then  a  gush  of  tears  had  cooled  her  hot  cheeks, 
tears  of  mingled  sorrow  and  thankfulness  that  their 
pretty  dream  had  not  taken  form  in  flesh. 

One  January  morning  she  sat,  chin  in  hands,  and 
stared  across  the  humming  stove  at  the  white  drift  out 
side.  Nels,  the  Swedish  hired  man,  had  killed  three  pigs 
for  winter  meat  the  day  before,  and  with  a  touch  of 
humor  that  was  foreign  to  his  bleached  complacency  had 
set  them  on  all-fours  in  the  snow.  Stiff,  frozen  —  so 
hard,  indeed,  that  the  house-dog  retired  disconsolately 

156 


TRAVAIL 

after  a  fruitless  tug  at  an  iron  ear — they  poked  marble 
shoulders  out  of  a  drift.  The  eye  of  one  was  closed  in 
a  cunning  wink.  His  neighbor  achieved  a  grin.  The 
mouth  of  the  third  was  open  and  thrown  back,  as  though 
defying  death  with  derisive  laughter. 

Steeped  in  thought,  Helen  did  not  see  the  grim  gro 
tesques.  These  months  she  had  undergone  three  distinct 
changes  of  feeling.  First  she  was  becomingly  repentant. 
Viewed  under  the  softening  perspectives  of  time  and  dis 
tance,  Carter's  crudities  waned,  while  his  strength  and 
virtues  waxed.  The  insignificant  sloughed  away  from 
his  personality,  leaving  only  the  strong,  the  virile.  Dur 
ing  this  stage  she  formed  small  plans  towards  reconcilia 
tion,  and  bided  patiently  at  home,  ceasing  her  visits  to 
Mrs.  Leslie.  Not  that  she  felt  them  wrong,  but,  besides 
the  shame  natural  to  her  position,  she  liked  to  feel  that 
she  was  gratifying  what  she  deemed  her  husband's  prej 
udice;  she  experienced  the  satisfaction  which  accrues 
from  a  penance  self-imposed. 

When,  however,  he  did  not  return,  she  relapsed  into 
hurt  silence  —  would  not  speak  of  him  to  Jenny,  nor 
listen  when  Bender  dropped  in  on  one  of  his  periodical 
visits  with  news  from  the  camp.  Lastly  came  cold  re 
sentment,  anger  at  the  grass-widowhood  that  was  being 
thrust  upon  her,  a  feeling  that  was  the  more  unbearable 
because  she  secretly  admired  his  boldness  in  cutting  the 
knot  of  their  difficulties.  She  recognized  the  wisdom  of 
the  act.  Had  he  not  taken  the  initiative,  the  process  of 
disenchantment  would  have  continued  till  she  herself 
might  have  taken  the  first  step  to  end  their  misery.  But 
the  knowledge  did  not  mitigate  the  sting.  He  had  forced 
the  separation!  The  thought  rankled  and  grew  more 
bitter  day  by  day. 

This  morning  she  was  in  a  particularly  dangerous  mood. 
Conscious  of  her  original  good  intention,  knowing  that 


THE  SETTLER 

her  fault  had  been  the  product  of  conditions  as  much  as 
her  own  weakness,  she  was  ripe  for  revolt  against  the 
entire  scheme  of  things  that  had  forced  the  lot  of  crabbed 
age  upon  her  flushed  youth,  compelling  her  to  sit  by  a 
lonely  fire.  And  as  she  sat  and  brooded  a  clash  of  bells 
broke  up  her  meditations;  the  door  opened,  letting  in  a 
bitter  blast  that  froze  the  warm  interior  air  into  chilly 
fog,  from  the  centre  of  which  Mrs.  Leslie  emerged, 
heavily  furred  and  voluble  as  ever. 

"Anchorite!"  she  screamed.  "Or  is  it  anchoress? 
Three,  four — no,  six  visits  you  owe  me.  Explain!  Bad 
weather?  Hum!"  She  tilted  her  pretty  nose.  "If  I 
couldn't  fib  more  artistically,  Helen,  I'd  adhere  to  the 
painful  truth.  You  were  afraid — of  hubby." 

"I— I  wasn't!" 

Mrs.  Leslie  surveyed  the  girl's  flushed  anger  with 
sarcastic  pity.  "Tut!  tut!  More  fibs.  Huddled  over 
that  stove,  you  make  the  loveliest  study  of  despair.  You 
have  been  crying,  too." 

"  I— I  haven't!"  The  lines  of  Huddled  Despair  flowed 
into  Radiant  Anger. 

"Your  eyes  are  red?" 

"Well,  if  they  are — if  I  did — it  was  through  anger." 

Mrs.  Leslie  accepted  the  modified  admission.  "That's 
right,  my  dear.  He — no  man  is  worth  the  compliment 
of  regretful  tears.  They  are  all  foolish,  selfish,  fickle  as 
children.  They  cry  for  love  like  a  child  for  the  moon, 
throw  it  away  when  the  toy  wearies,  howl  if  another 
tries  to  pick  it  up.  They  only  value  the  unattainable. 
Bah!" 

The  ejaculation  was  comical  in  its  feigned  disgust,  but 
just  then  Helen  had  ears  only  for  the  serious  or  sympa 
thetic — preferably  the  latter.  "Tell  me,  Elinor,"  she 
asked,  "do  you  really  think  I  have  deserved  this  at  his 
hands?" 

158 


TRAVAIL 

"No."  For  once  in  her  life  Mrs.  Leslie  dealt  in  un 
diluted  truth — because,  perhaps,  lying  would  not  serve 
her  purpose.  "  One  could  understand  his  pique — "  With 
incredible  hardihood,  considering  the  part  she  herself 
had  played,  she  commented:  "Really,  my  dear,  you 
ought  not  to  have  done  it.  But  he  has  been  altogether 
too  severe — unforgiving.  I  don't  see  how  you  stand  it. 
I  should  freeze  these  cold  nights  without  some  one  to 
warm  my  feet  on." 

"To  think" — speech  was  such  a  relief  after  months  of 
bitter  silence,  and  Helen  never  even  noticed  the  other's 
funny  climax — ' '  to  think  that  this  should  be  dealt  to  me 
by  a  man  of  whose  very  existence  I  was  unconscious  a 
short  two  years  ago !  Is  he  a  god  to  exercise  such  power 
— to  command  me  to  eat  the  bread-and-water  of  afflic 
tion  during  his  pleasure?  Why,  I  was  twenty-two  be 
fore  I  ever  saw  him!  Doesn't  it  seem  ridiculous — silly 
as  though  one  pebble  on  a  beach  were  to  establish  limits 
for  another  ?  They  roll  and  rub  where  and  with  whom 
they  list,  and  why  shouldn't  I  ?"  Ignoring  the  fact  that 
monogamy  was  her  sex's  greatest  achievement,  and  that 
the  first  woman  who  bartered  love  for  protection,  cookery 
for  maintenance,  had  not  driven  such  a  bad  bargain,  she 
finished:  "Wouldn't  it  be  funny  if  pebbles  were  con 
demned  to  rub  and  roll  in  definite  pairs  till  winds  and 
waves  had  buried  one  or  other  affinity  deep  in  the  sands. 
Why—" 

"In  other  words,"  Mrs.  Leslie  interrupted,  "why 
should  vertical  distances  count  for  more  than  horizontal 
— death  for  more  than  distance — seven  feet  under  the  sod 
carry  advantages  and  opportunities  that  do  not  go  with 
seventy  miles  above?  There  isn't  any  reason.  It  is 
just  so." 

"Well,  I  won't  stand  it !"  Rebellion  inhered  in  Helen's 
stamp.  "I  won't!  I  won't!  I  won't  1' 

159 


i» 


THE  SETTLER 

Mrs.  Leslie  shrugged  her  hopelessness.  "  Thousands  of 
women  have  to.  What  can  you  do,  my  dear?" 

' '  Do  ?"  the  girl  answered,  hotly.  4 '  I  have  already  done 
it — applied  for  and  secured  my  old  school.  Unfortunate 
ly,  I  must  remain  here  till  the  spring  term  opens." 

Now  to  accuse  Mrs.  Leslie  of  trailing  a  definite  purpose 
were  to  reveal  lamentable  ignorance  of  her  ruling  traits. 
She  was  no  fell  adventuress  of  romance,  stealthy  of  plot, 
remorseless  in  pursuit.  Persistence  was  foreign  to  her 
light  character.  Unstable  as  water,  she  veered  like  a 
shuttlecock  under  the  breath  of  emotion,  yet,  withal, 
grasped  speedily  at  such  straws  as  the  winds  of  opportu 
nity  brought  within  reach.  If  she  lacked  force  to  plot 
Carter's  capture,  or  to  revenge  herself  for  his  slight 
through  Helen,  she  was  willing  enough  now  that  the 
wind  served. 

"In  the  mean  time,"  she  said,  "you  will  stay  with  me  ?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that!"  Oh,  complex  feminine  nat 
ure!  Helen  balked  at  the  freedom  of  her  agonizings. 
The  quick  earnestness  of  her  answer  told  of  the  hope 
that  still  glowed  in  the  ashes  of  despair. 

But  Mrs.  Leslie  turned  hope  against  her.  "Oh  yes," 
she  mocked.  "You  were  not  afraid  of  him;  certainly 
not.  But  that  is  not  the  way  to  get  him  back,  my  dear. 
If  you  would  regain  your  recreant,  give  him  a  rival." 

Now,  though  this  piece  of  worldly  wisdom  was  strictly 
in  line  with  Helen's  crooked  parable  of  the  pebbles,  the 
idea  sounded  grossly  common  in  plain  words.  Hastily 
she  said,  "You  don't  suppose  that  I  would — " 

"No!  no!"  Mrs.  Leslie  skilfully  retrieved  her  error. 
' '  I  only  meant  that  it  would  be  as  well  to  keep  him  on  the 
anxious  seat.  Never  let  a  man  feel  too  sure  of  you — it 
isn't  healthy,  for  him  or  you.  I  wouldn't  wait  here  till 
it  pleased  him  to  extend  magnificent  forgiveness  for  so 
small  a  fault.  Go  out — visit — let  him  see  that  you  can 

1 60 


TRAVAIL 

be  happy  without  him — that  you  have  still  attractions 
for  others." 

"But  I  don't  care.  Why  do  you  persist,  Elinor,  in 
hinting  that  I  still  love  him?  I  don't." 

"Then  you'll  come  with  me?" 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't  leave  Jenny  alone  with  Nels." 

Mrs.  Leslie  might  have  replied  that  this  was  exactly 
what  she  would  have  to  do  when  school  opened;  in 
stead,  she  contemplated  the  love  which  masqueraded  be 
hind  this  unparalleled  obstinacy  from  sphinxlike  eyes. 
"Jenny  must  be  dying  to  see  her  friends  in  Lone  Tree," 
she  suggested.  ' '  Let  her  take  a  vacation.  As  for  Nels — 
he  can  bach  it." 

Helen  looked  troubled.  It  was  really  astonishing  to 
see  how  she  ran  from  liberty.  But  she  had,  perforce, 
to  make  some  show  of  living  up  to  her  professions,  so 
she  called  Jenny  and  anxiously  inquired  if  she  didn't 
want  to  visit  her  friends.  Unfortunately,  Jennie  had 
been  oppressed  these  many  days  with  a  longing  to  see 
the  good  doctor,  and  the  expression  of  her  wish  carried 
the  day  for  Mrs.  Leslie. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  sighed;  and  Mrs.  Leslie  prudently 
confined  her  laugh  within  her  own  hollow  sepultures. 

Accepting  the  invitation  with  misgivings,  she  was  as 
tonished,  on  her  return  home,  to  find  how  thoroughly 
she  had  enjoyed  her  two  weeks'  visit.  Yet  it  was  only 
natural.  Besides  the  change,  Mrs.  Leslie  had  been  at 
pains  to  amuse  and  entertain  her.  There  were  cosey 
chats  over  the  teacups  on  matters  dear  to  the  feminine 
heart,  and  daily  sleigh-rides  —  mad  dashes  over  hard- 
packed  trails  to  music  of  jingling  bells.  Once  the  drive 
was  extended  as  far  as  Regis  barracks,  twenty  miles  to 
the  west,  and  Helen  was  introduced  to  captains  of  the 
mounted  police  in  scarlet  splashed  with  gold,  their 
ladies,  the  agents  and  clerks  of  the  government  land 

161 


THE  SETTLER 

office — pleasant  people  at  first  sight,  of  whom  she  was 
to  learn  more.  Of  nights,  Molyneux  and  other  remit 
tance-bachelors  would  drop  in,  and,  with  drawn  curtains 
excluding  the  vast  arctic  night,  there  would  be  music, 
songs,  games.  Small  wonder  that  she  enjoyed  herself, 
or  that,  the  ice  thus  broken,  she  gravitated  between 
home  and  the  Leslies'  during  the  remainder  of  that 
winter. 

Speaking  of  Molyneux,  a  greater  surprise  inhered  in 
the  fact  that  she  had  been  able  to  meet  him  without 
embarrassment,  a  condition  that  was  due  to  the  tact  and 
real  consideration  which  he  displayed.  At  their  first 
meeting  he  paused  only  for  a  pleasant  greeting;  next, 
he  ventured  a  chat;  and  these  lengthened  until  he  felt 
safe  in  staying  out  an  evening. 

He  marked  his  greatest  gain  the  day  that  —  Leslie 
being  under  the  weather  with  a  cold — she  allowed  him 
to  drive  her  home.  By  those  gentlemen,  the  romanti 
cists,  this  fact  would  not  have  been  accorded  a  tender 
implication.  They  paint  love  in  colors  fast  as  patent 
dyes:  good  girls  love  once;  or,  if  a  second  passion  be 
grudgingly  allowed,  it  is  only  after  the  first  is  safely 
bestowed  in  cold  storage  underground.  In  face  of  the 
fact  that  the  little  god  occasionally  shoots  a  double 
arrow,  that  the  sigh  of  many  a  wife  would  be  unwelcome 
if  intelligible  to  her  husband,  that  many  a  maid  has 
slipped  into  spinsterhood  between  two  passions,  they 
lay  down  as  the  basic  principle  of  ethical  romance  the 
canon  that  neither  wife  nor  maid  can  entertain  two  loves 
other  than  in  sequence. 

Now  Helen  may  not  have  been  in  this  case,  and  if  she 
had  it  goes  without  saying  that  she  would  never  have 
admitted  the  preference  even  to  herself.  For  she  had 
been  raised  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  aforesaid  canon. 
Yet  he  had  certainly  won  on  her — for  good  reason.  In 

162 


TRAVAIL 

person  he  was  above  the  average  of  good  looks;  his 
manners  touched  standard.  In  that  he,  alone  of  the 
English  set,  had  been  able  to  wring  a  living  from  the 
stern  northland  without  the  aid  of  a  fat  allowance,  he 
commanded  her  respect.  Also  she  thought  that  he  was 
trying  to  sink  his  past — he  entertained  the  same  illusion 
— and  as  every  good  girl  loves  to  imagine  herself  as  an 
"influence,"  the  thought  gave  her  satisfaction.  Moly- 
neux  had  no  cause  of  complaint. 

To  do  him  justice,  he  tried,  in  a  slovenly  fashion,  yet 
still  tried,  to  live  up  to  this,  the  one  pure  love  of  his  life — 
purity  must  be  interpreted  as  applying  to  his  intention 
rather  than  motive.  Of  all  the  remittance-men  who  fre 
quented  Mrs.  Leslie's  house,  he,  at  this  time,  showed  the 
least  moral  taint.  Often  he  thrust  in  between  Helen  and 
things  offensive.  Though,  during  Helen's  visits,  Mrs. 
Leslie  made  some  attempt  to  put  her  house  in  order, 
she  could  not  always  bridle  her  male  guests,  who  smoked 
Leslie's  imported  tobacco  and  offered  herself  veiled  love. 
But  Molyneux  sterilized  most  of  their  blackguardism, 
nipping  entendre  with  a  chilly  stare,  destroying  double 
meanings  by  instant  and  literal  interpretation — did  it  so 
effectually  that  she  never  noticed  the  pervading  sensu 
alism.  Indeed,  he  did  it  so  much  as  to  draw  Mrs.  Les 
lie's  fire.  "Virtuous  boy,"  she  said,  teasing  him  one  day. 
"You  almost  convert  me  to  the  true-love  theory." 

His  grimace  gauged  the  depth  of  his  reformation.  To 
him  as  to  Mrs.  Leslie  the  text  could  be  fitted:  "Can  the 
leopard  change  his  spots  or  the  Ethiop  his  skin?" 
Really  he  had  not  changed  in  quality  or  purpose;  it 
was  the  same  Molyneux  in  pursuit  of  the  same  end. 
His  tactics  were  merely  altered  to  suit  his  game.  He 
would,  of  course,  have  denied  this — probably  with  the 
warmth  of  honest  conviction.  At  times  his  reflections 
on  the  subject  attained  highly  moral  altitudes.  He  had 

163 


THE  SETTLER 

known  from  the  first  that  Helen  could  never  live  with 
Carter!  Duty  certainly  called  him  to  end  her  bondage! 
Yes,  he  believed  himself  honest,  and  would  continue  to 
so  believe  until  some  unexpected  check  loosed  the  Old 
Adam  again.  This  was  proved  by  the  flashes  of  passion 
at  the  very  thought  of  failure.  It  would  have  been 
much  more  natural  for  him  to  have  attempted  a  raid  on 
Carter's  Eden.  But,  warned  by  previous  experience,  he 
waited,  waited,  waited,  and  watched  as  the  snake  may 
have  watched  the  maiden  Eve  over  the  threshold  of 
Adam's  garden.  Now  that  time  seemed  to  have  verified 
his  prediction,  that,  albeit  with  hesitant  steps,  Helen  was 
approaching  the  gate  of  her  own  accord,  he  held  back 
the  hot  hand  that  fain  would  have  plucked  her  forth 
lest  he  should  startle  her  into  flight. 

There  were  many  watchers  of  the  girl's  progression 
during  the  winter  months:  Mrs.  Leslie,  who  might  be 
said  to  await  the  moment  when  a  shove  might  throw  the 
girl  off  her  balance  headlong  into  Molyneux's  arms;  the 
settlers,  who  anticipated  such  a  denouement  with  scandal 
ous  tongues;  the  remittance-men,  who  betted  on  the  re 
sult,  basing  odds  on  her  lonely  condition.  To  these  there 
could  be  but  one  end.  Always  the  human  soul  reaches 
for  happiness,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  once  mistaken 
Dead  Sea  fruit  for  love's  golden  apples  would  not  prevent 
her  from  tiptoeing  to  pluck  again.  Would  she  pluck  ? 

Molyneux,  for  one,  was  sure  that  she  would,  and, 
having  the  courage  of  his  conviction,  put  his  hope  into 
speech,  choosing  an  opportune  time.  Nels  always  drove 
her  over  to  Leslie's,  and  at  first  brought  her  home.  But 
by  the  middle  of  February  the  latter  part  of  the  task 
fell  by  consent  of  all  to  Molyneux,  and  he  spoke  while 
driving  her  home  one  afternoon. 

"Read  this,"  he  said,  handing  her  a  telegram  that 
called  him  to  his  father's  death-bed. 

164 


TRAVAIL 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!"  she  exclaimed,  impulsively. 

"For  what,"  he  questioned,  "his  sickness  or  my  ab 
sence?" 

"Both,"  she  frankly  answered.  "You  have  been — 
very  nice  to  me.  I  shall  miss  you." 

Now  this  was  all  very  proper,  but  when  he  stated  that 
he  should  be  gone  at  least  seven  weeks  she  ought  to 
have  veiled  her  concern.  But  she  did  not,  and  the  re 
gret  that  swam  in  the  hazel  eyes  strengthened  his  pur 
pose.  "Before  I  go  I  must  say  something.  How  long 
is  our  present  relation  to  last?" 

The  raise  of  her  eyebrows  might  have  meant  anything. 
He  took  it  as  encouragement,  and  ran  on,  "You  know 
that  I  love — have  always  loved  you." 

Here,  according  to  the  canons,  she  ought  to  have 
withered  him.  Instead  she  gave  him  the  truth.  "lam 
not  blind." 

"Thanks  for  your  candor.  Now,  a  step  further — do 
you  intend  to  remain  his  bondwoman?" 

This  was  harder,  yet  her  answer  correctly  interpreted 
her  feeling.  "I — I — really  don't  know." 

The  doubt  spurred  him.  "You  do  not  love  him.  You 
could  not — after  the  way  he  has  treated  you.  You  must 
have  love.  •  A  glance  at  your  face  would  tell  a  dullard 
that  it  is  as  necessary  to  your  existence  as  air  or  water. 
You  cannot  be  happy  without  it.  It  is  life  to  you;  more 
than  sustenance.  You  must  be  wrapped  in  it,  touch  it 
at  every  point,  feel  it  everywhere  around  you.  Your 
being  cries  out  for  a  passion  all-absorbing;  you  will 
take  nothing  less.  I  would — " 

"Give  me  such  love?"  She  had  thrilled  under  his 
truthful  analysis  of  her  nature,  and  now  she  cried  out 
the  passion  of  her  sex,  the  eternal  desire  for  a  love  ever 
lasting  as  that  of  a  mother.  "Is  such  possible? — a  love 
that  never  stales,  that  endures  after  the  hot  blood  cools 
"  165 


THE  SETTLER 

and  beauty  fades  ?     Could  you  love  me  through  old  age  ? 
No,  no!     A  woman  can,  but  never  a  man!" 

"I  can!  By  God!  I  can!"  he  cried,  blazing  in  re 
sponse  to  her  passion.  "I'll  prove  it,  for  sooner  or  later 
you  are  going  to  love  me." 

She  laughed  a  little  wearily.  "There  spake  the  bold 
man.  Well — you  have  my  good  wishes." 

4 '  Your — good — wishes  ? ' ' 

"Don't  flatter  yourself."  Her  staying  hand  checked 
his  enthusiasm.  "You  said  just  now  that  I  didn't  love 
— my  husband.  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  don't  know. 
I  have  no  standard  by  which  to  judge,  and  only  love 
could  supply  one.  So  far — you  have  failed  to  do  so. 
I  like  you — very  much;  but — if  I  ever  love  again,  the 
man  must  lift  me  out  of  myself,  make  me  forget — him, 
myself,  the  whole  world." 

"I'll  do  it!"  he  confidently  exclaimed;  then,  sobering, 
added:  "I  want  you  to  promise  one  thing.  It  isn't 
much — simply  to  give  serious  thought  to  your  position 
while  I  am  away — to  remember  what  I  have  just  told 
you  and  to  forget  that  first  foolish  mistake  that  cost 
me  so  much.  Now  will  you?" 

"Surely,"  she  honestly  answered. 

"And — if  possible — give  me  an  answer?*' 

She  nodded,  and  he  was  content  to  leave  it  there. 
They  were  now  on  the  last  mile,  and  they  made  it  in 
silence,  he  plunged  in  delicious  reverie,  she  very  thought 
ful.  Looking  up  as  the  cutter  rolled  and  bumped  over 
the  frozen  stable-yard,  he  caught  her  looking  at  him  with 
soft  compassion. 

"Well?" 

She  smiled.     "Did  you  really— suffer ?" 

"Hell!" 

Grasping  her  hand,  he  had  almost  kissed  it  when  she 
jerked  it  suddenly  away.  "There's  Karl — and  Jenny 

166 


TRAVAIL 

—  standing  in  the  door."  Noting  his  sudden  discom 
posure,  she  added:  "Never  mind,  she  didn't  see  you. 
Won't  you  come  in?" 

"Can't— put  me  late  for  the  choring." 

This  was  only  one  of  a  dozen  times  that  he  had  refused 
the  invitation.  A  little  surprised,  she  watched  him  turn 
and  drive  away,  then  she  saw  Nels  coming  up  from  the 
stable,  and  the  thought  was  lost  in  wonder  as  to  whether 
or  no  he  had  seen  Molyneux  take  her  hand. 

Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Nels  had;  moreover,  he  men 
tioned  it  to  Jenny  as  he  helped  her  wipe  the  supper 
dishes,  and  thereby  earned  much  trouble.  "I  tank,"  he 
observed,  "something  is  doings.  Cappan  he  taken  the 
mistress  hand.  Pratty  soon  the  boss  no  have  womans." 

His  chuckle  died  under  her  wrathful  stare.  "Mention 
that  to  any  one,  Nels,  an'  Mr.  Bender  '11  break  every  bone 
in  your  body." 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  dispose  of  her  own  misgivings. 
As,  that  evening,  she  arranged  the  dishes  in  the  home 
made  plate-rack,  she  turned  sombre  eyes  on  Helen, 
musing  by  the  stove.  Often  her  lips  opened,  but  sound 
trembled  on  its  thresholds.  She  kept  her  own  counsel 
till  Bender  dropped  in  on  his  next  visit. 

It  was  perfectly  natural  for  her  to  turn  to  him  for 
counsel.  Coming  to  her  as  he  did,  in  the  moment  of 
her  sore  trouble,  her  girl's  heart  had  opened  and  vented 
on  him  the  love  that  had  been  prisoned  since  the  death 
of  her  mother;  and  ever  since  a  perfect  understanding 
of  kindred  natures  had  obtained  between  them. 

"They're  talking  about  her  in  the  settlements  some 
thing  scan'lous,"  she  told  him.  "Tongues  is  clacking 
from  here  to  Lone  Tree.  Why  don't  Mr.  Carter  come 
home?  Kain't  you  persuade  him?" 

But  Bender  shook  his  head.  "No,  he's  stiffer'n  all 
he —  Beg  your  pardon!  I  mean  he's  dreadful  sot  in 


THE  SETTLER 

his  mind.  I  wouldn't  envy  the  one  that  went  to  ad 
vise  him." 

Before  going  away  Bender  touched  on  a  matter  that 
was  now  old  history  in  their  intercourse.  "Changed 
your  mind  yet,  little  girl?" 

It  was  now  Jenny's  turn  to  sorrowfully  shake  her  head. 
"It  would  be  my  an'  pleasure  to  be  wife  to  a  big,  good 
man  like  you.  But  I  just  kain't  bring  myself  to  put 
you  where  any  man  could  cast  my  shame  in  your  face." 

"Oh,  shore!"  he  protested.  "You  was  that  little — a. 
teeny  bit  of  a  thing,  jes*  seventeen — on'y  a  baby.  Who'd 
be  holding  it  agin  you?  Besides — he's  in  England." 

"Yes  —  he's  in  England,"  Jenny  slowly  repeated. 
"But—" 

He  did  not  see  the  queer  look  she  sent^after  him  as  he 
rode  away. 


XVI 

A     HOUSE-PARTY 

ONE  morning,  some  three  weeks  after  Molyneux's 
departure,  Helen  sat  in  her  doorway  reading,  as 
certain  an  indication  of  coming  spring  as  the  honk  of 
the  wild  geese  speeding  northward  on  the  back  of  the 
amorous  south  wind.  As  yet  the  prairie  sloughs  wore 
mail  of  ice,  but  from  dizzy  heights  those  keen-eyed  voy 
agers  discerned  tricklings  and  wee  pools  under  sheltered 
forest  banks,  sufficient  till  the  laggard  sun  should  smite 
the  snows  and  fill  the  air  with  tinklings  and  gurglings, 
loose  the  strange  sound  of  running  waters  on  the  frozen 
silence.  Another  month  would  do  it.  Already  the 
drifts  were  packing,  and  the  hard  trails  traversed  the 
sinking  snows  like  mountain  chains  on  a  relief  map. 
In  Helen's  door-yard  stratas  of  yellow  chips,  debris  of 
the  winter's  furious  firing,  were  beginning  to  appear; 
with  them,  lost  articles;  indeed,  Nels  was  gobbling  joy 
ously  over  the  retrieval  of  an  axe,  when  Leslie's  team  and 
cutter  came  swinging  into  the  yard. 

Mrs.  Leslie  was  driving,  and,  seeing  Helen,  she  scream 
ed  from  a  hundred  yards:  "They  are  coming!  All  of 
'em!" 

"Who?"  Helen  asked,  when  the  ponies  stopped  at  the 
door. 

"Why,  Edith  Newton,  Mrs.  Jack  Charters,  Sinclair 
Rhodes — you  remember  ?  I  told  you  that  I  should  give 
a  house-party  for  the  Regis  folks  when  the  frosts  let  up. 


THE  SETTLER 

Hurry  and  pack  up  your  war -paint!  They'll  be  here 
to-morrow,  and  I  need  your  help.  No  refusal!  Fred 
is  going  in  to  Lone  Tree  to-morrow  and  Jenny  can  go 
down  with  him.  Nels  will  cook  for  himself,  won't  you, 
Nels?" 

"I  tank  I  can  cook,  yes."  Nels  ceased  his  jubilations 
over  the  axe  long  enough  to  season  his  assent  with  a 
bleached  grin. 

"There!  It's  all  fixed."  Bustling  inside,  she  talked 
volubly  while  assisting  in  Helen's  selections.  "Yes, 
take  that;  you  look  your  sweetest  in  it;  and  I  imported 
Captain  Chapman  especially  for  you.  That  also;  you'll 
need  it  evenings.  No,  Captain  Charters  isn't  coming. 
Some  Indian  trouble  called  him  west.  Oh,  Mrs.  Jack 
won't  care — I'm  the  loser,  for  he  was  always  my  cava 
lier." 

Driving  home,  she  rattled  steadily,  entertaining  Helen 
with  descriptions  of  her  expected  guests,  giving  their 
pedigrees,  aristocratic  connections,  while  she  spiced  her 
discourse  with  malicious  fact.  Sinclair  Rhodes  had  se 
cured  his  appointment  as  land  agent  at  Regis  through 
distant  cousinship  to  the  governor-general.  And  why 
not  ?  The  offices  ought  to  go  to  well-bred  people !  He 
had  money,  must  have,  for  his  salary  and  expenses  were 
out  of  all  proportion — so  much  so  as  to  cause  comment 
by  malicious  people,  envious  souls!  What  if  he  did  make 
a  little,  as  they  said,  on  the  side?  The  government 
could  afford  it;  and  every  one  knew  what  Canadians 
were  in  office!  People  who  live  in  glass  houses,  and  so 
forth !  It  was  simply  racial  envy !  She  was  also  becom 
ingly  indignant  over  the  action  of  certain  Canadians  who 
had  made  trouble  for  Captain  Chapman  in  the  matter  of 
mounted-police  supplies.  What  figure  did  a  few  tons  of 
provisions  cut  in  a  gentleman's  accounts?  These  com 
mercial  intellects,  with  their  mathematical  exactness, 

170 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

were  horrid.  Newton  ?  He  was  an  appointee  of  Rhodes. 
No,  no  relation.  She  waived  further  description  of  the 
Newtons,  omitted  the  pregnant  fact  that  Charles  New 
ton's  presence  cut  as  little  figure  in  his  wife's  social 
calculations  as  Captain  Charters'  absence  did  in  those 
of  Mrs.  Jack. 

Caution,  doubtless,  counselled  the  omission.  The  quail 
is  not  flushed  till  the  net  be  spread.  Yet  the  reserva 
tion  was  hardly  necessary  in  the  light  of  Helen's  condi 
tion.  Judgment  of  another's  action  is  colored  by  one's 
own  mental  state,  and  she  was  not  so  likely  to  be 
shocked  by  one  who  had  defied  the  conventions  against 
which  she  herself  was  in  open  mutiny.  Anyway,  she 
liked  Mrs.  Jack  at  first  sight,  despite  the  scandalous 
manner  in  which  she  flirted  with  Charles  Newton  the 
first  night  at  table.  Big,  tall,  and  fair,  large  eyes  ex 
pressed  her  saving  grace,  an  unparalleled  frankness  that 
seemed  to  sterilize  her  flirtations  and  rob  them  of  impro 
priety.  Twice  during  the  meal  she  retailed  Newton's 
tender  asides  to  his  wife,  asking,  laughingly,  if  she  rec 
ognized  the  vintage. 

However,  being  as  yet  in  happy  ignorance  of  many 
things  that  would  soon  cause  her  serious  disquiet,  Helen 
thoroughly  enjoyed  that  first  evening.  The  well-appoint 
ed  table,  with  its  sparkling  glass,  silver,  snowy  napery; 
the  well-groomed  people  and  their  correct  speech  alike 
fed  her  starved  aesthetic  senses  while  they  aroused  dor 
mant  social  qualities.  She  laughed,  chattered,  capped 
Mrs.  Jack's  sallies,  displaying  animation  and  wit  thaf 
simply  astonished  Mrs.  Leslie.  Her  wonder,  indeed, 
caused  Edith  Newton  to  whisper  in  Mrs.  Jack's  ear: 

"Elinor  looks  as  though  she  had  imported  a  swan  in 
mistake  for  a  duckling.  Look  at  Sinclair — positively 
smitten.  Giving  her  all  his  attention,  though  he  took 
Elinor  in.  The  girl  seems  to  like  him,  too." 

171 


THE  SETTLER 

Mrs.  Jack's  big  eyes  turned  to  the  laughing  face  that 
was  raised  up  to  Rhodes.  "Don't  believe  a  word  he 
says,  my  dear,"  she  suddenly  called  across  the  table. 
"And  look  out  for  him.  He's  dangerous." 

Though  she  laughed,  Rhodes  must  have  sensed  a  seri 
ous  motive, for  he  glanced  up  in  quick  annoyance.  "Do 
I  look  it?"  he  asked,  turning  again  to  Helen. 

Nature  does  not  lie.  His  narrowly  spaced  eyes,  sa 
lient  facial  angles,  dull  skin,  heavy  lips  carried  her  cer 
tificate  of  degeneracy.  A  physiognomist  would  have  pro 
nounced  him  dangerous  to  innocence  as  a  wild  beast  on 
less  evidence,  but  to  Helen's  inexperience  he  appeared 
as  a  man  unusually  handsome,  profile  or  front  face. 
The  significant  angles  did  not  alter  the  good  modelling 
of  his  nose  and  chin  or  affect  the  regularity  of  his  feat 
ures.  Tall,  slim,  irreproachable  in  manner  and  dress, 
there  was  no  scratch  to  reveal  the  base  metal  beneath 
his  electroplate  refinement. 

"You  certainly  don't,"  she  answered,  laughing. 

"Then,"  he  said,  with  mock  gravity,  "I  can  patiently 
suffer  the  sting  of  calumny." 

"Calumny  ?"  Mrs.  Jack  echoed,  teasingly.  "Calumny  ? 
What's  that?" 

"  Synonyme  for  conscience,"  Edith  Newton  put  in,  with 
a  spice  of  malice.  For  though  the  conquest  of  Rhodes — 
to  which  Regis  gossip  wickedly  laid  Newton's  presence 
in  the  land  office — was  now  stale  with  age  and  tiresome 
to  herself,  she  was  selfish  enough  to  resent  his  defection. 

"Sinclair  found  it  while  rummaging  Fred's  coat  for 
matches,"  her  husband  added.  Leslie's  simplicity  was 
as  much  of  a  joke  to  them  as  it  was  with  the  Canadian 
settlers,  and,  under  cover  of  the  laugh,  Chapman — a  big 
blond  of  that  cavalry,  mustached  type  which  wins  Eng 
land's  cricket  matches  while  losing  all  her  wars — leaned 
over  and  whispered  in  Newton's  ear:  "Leslie  will  lose 

172 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

more  than  his  conscience  if  he  doesn't  look  out.  La  belle 
Elinor  is  madly  smitten."  Aloud,  he  said,  "Sinclair 
would  hardly  know  what  to  do  with  it,  Mrs.  Newton." 

"Hearken  not  to  the  tongue  of  envy,  Mrs.  Carter," 
Rhodes  retaliated  upon  his  tormentors.  "I'm  a  very 
responsible  person,  I  assure  you." 

She  laughed  at  his  mock  seriousness,  and,  believing  it 
all  fooling,  gave  him  so  much  of  her  attention  that  even 
ing  as  to  cause  more  than  one  comment.  "Rhodes  is 
making  heavy  running,"  Newton  remarked  once  to  Chap 
man,  who  replied,  conceitedly  stroking  his  mustache, 
"Wait  till  I  get  in  my  innings." 

"After  me,"  Newton  answered.  "I  come  next  at  the 
bat." 

Ignorant  of  this  and  other  by-play,  however,  Helen 
thoroughly  enjoyed  the  first  days  of  the  party.  On  the 
frontier,  amusement  is  a  home-made  product,  and  shares 
the  superiority  of  domestic  jams,  jellies,  and  pickles  over 
the  article  of  commerce.  They  caught  the  fickle  damsel 
Pleasure  coming  and  going,  reaping  the  satisfaction  of 
both  spectator  and  entertainer.  By  day  they  skated, 
drove,  or  curled  on  a  rink  which  the  male  guests  laid  out; 
nights,  they  sang,  danced,  played  games,  and  romped 
like  children. 

Apart  from  a  certain  freedom  in  their  intercourse, 
which  she  attributed  to  long  acquaintance,  Helen  found 
nothing  objectionable  in  the  demeanor  of  her  new  friends 
during  those  first  few  days.  On  the  contrary,  she 
thought  them  a  trifle  dull.  Their  preglacial  and  pon 
derous  humor  excited  her  risibility ;  she  laughed  as  often 
at  as  with  them.  At  other  times  she  could  not  but  feel 
that  they  regarded  her  as  alien,  a  pretty  pagan  without 
their  social  pale,  and  she  would  revolt  against  their 
enormous  egotism,  insolent  ^national  conceit.  She  broke 
many  a  lance  on  that  impregnable  shield. 


THE  SETTLER 

"You  English,"  she  flashed  back  when,  one  evening, 
Newton  reflected  on  American  pronunciation  of  certain 
English  family  names — "you  English  remind  me  of  the 
Jews,  with  their  sibboleth  and  shibboleth.  Is  your  aris 
tocracy  so  doubtful  of  its  own  identity  that  it  is  com 
pelled  to  hedge  itself  against  intrusion  by  the  use  of 
passwords.  You  may  call  '  Cholmondeley '  'Chumley,' 
if  you  choose,  but  we  commit  no  crime  in  pronouncing 
it  as  spelled." 

Again,  when  Edith  Newton  rallied  her  on  some  crude 
custom  which  she  maintained  was  peculiarly  American, 
Helen  delivered  a  sharp  riposte.  "No,  I  never  saw  it 
done  at  home ;  but  I  have  heard  that  it  is  quite  common 
among  English  emigrants  on  transatlantic  liners."  Such 
tiffs  were,  however,  rare;  and,  to  do  them  justice,  men 
and  women  hastened  to  sacrifice  national  conceit  on  the 
altars  of  her  wounded  susceptibilities. 

Offence  came  later,  and  on  quite  another  score.  At 
first  she  liked  the  attentions  paid  her;  the  gallantry  of 
the  men  put  her  on  better  terms  with  herself,  renewed 
the  confidence  which  had  diminished  to  the  vanishing- 
point  during  her  months  of  loneliness.  But  when  con 
stant  association  thawed  the  reserve  natural  to  first 
acquaintance,  and  freedom  evolved  into  familiarity,  her 
instincts  took  alarm.  Distressed,  she  observed  the  other 
women  to  see  if  she  had  been  singled  out.  But  no,  they 
seemed  quite  comfortable  under  similar  attentions,  and 
they  rallied  her  when  she  unfolded  her  misgivings  at 
afternoon  tea. 

"You  shouldn't  be  so  pretty,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Jack 
said,  laughing.  "What  can  the  poor  men  do?"  Then 
they  made  fun  of  her  scruples,  satirizing  conventions  and 
institutions  which  she  had  always  regarded  as  necessary, 
if  not  God-ordained. 

"Marriage,"  Edith  Newton  once  cynically  exclaimed, 

174 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

"is  merely  a  badge  of  respectability,  useful  as  a  shield 
from  the  slings  and  arrows."  Then,  from  the  depths  of 
her  own  degeneracy,  she  evolved  the  utterance:  "Men 
are  all  beasts  beneath  the  skin.  Wise  women  use  them 
for  pleasure  or  profit." 

Helen  revolted  at  that;  it  transcended  her  mutiny. 
But  few  people  are  made  of  martyr  stuff — perhaps  fort 
unately  so;  martyrs  are  uncomfortable  folk,  and,  wise 
in  her  eternal  generation,  nature  sprinkles  them  lightly 
over  the  mass  of  common  clay.  The  average  person 
easily  takes  the  color  of  environment,  so  why  not  Helen  ? 
Thinking  that  perhaps  she  was  a  little  prudish,  she 
stifled  her  fears,  tried  to  imitate  the  nonchalance  of  the 
others.  She  even  made  a  few  tentative  attempts  at 
daring.  Alas!  as  well  expect  a  rabbit  to  ruffle  it  with 
wolves.  Such  immediate  and  unwelcome  results  follow 
ed  that  she  retired  precipitously  behind  ramparts  of 
blushing  reserve.  But  the  damage  was  done.  There 
after  Chapman,  Newton,  Rhodes,  one  or  another,  was 
constantly  at  her  elbow ;  she  was  unpleasantly  conscious 
that,  having  let  down  her  fences,  they  looked  upon  her 
as  free  game. 

The  thought  stirred  her  to  fight.  Chapman  she  dis 
posed  of  with  a  single  rebuff  that  sent  him  back  to  Mrs. 
Jack's  side.  But  Newton  proved  unmanageable.  Im 
pervious  to  snubs,  his  manner  conveyed  his  idea  that  her 
modesty  was  simply  a  blind  for  the  others.  His  famili 
arities  bordered  on  license.  A  good  singer,  he  always 
asked  her  to  play  his  accompaniments  of  evenings,  and 
she  would  sicken  as  he  used  the  pretence  of  turning  a 
leaf  to  lean  heavily  upon  her  shoulder.  At  other  times 
he  made  occasion  to  touch  her — would  pick  threads  from 
her  jacket;  lean  across  her  to  speak  to  her  neighbor  at 
table. 

By  such  tactics  he  brought  her,  one  morning,  to  great 


THE  SETTLER 

confusion.  A  Cree  Indian  had  driven  in  from  the 
Assiniboin  reserve  with  bead -work,  moccasins,  and 
badger-skin  mittens  which  he  wished  to  trade  for  flour 
or  bacon.  With  the  other  women  Helen  was  bending 
over  to  examine  his  wares,  when  Newton  entered  the 
kitchen.  Stepping  quietly  up  from  behind,  he  laid  a 
hand  on  Helen's  hair.  Taking  him  for  one  of  the  other 
women,  she  suffered  his  fondling  till  Mrs.  Leslie,  who 
knew  he  was  there,  asked  his  opinion  on  a  tobacco- 
pouch.  Then,  before  she  could  move,  speak,  cast  off 
his  hand,  he  pressed  her  head  against  his  wife's  dark 
curls. 

"Just  look  at  the  contrast!"  he  admiringly  exclaimed, 
and  so  robbed  her  anger. 

Yet  so  evident  was  the  intent  behind  the  excuse  that 
even  the  Cree  detected  the  sham.  From  Helen  his  dark 
glance  travelled  to  Newton  and  back  again.  "He  your 
man?"  he  asked. 

Vexed  to  the  point  of  tears,  she  shook  her  head  and 
bent  over  the  bead -work  to  hide  her  embarrassment. 
But  the  Cree's  rude  notions  of  etiquette  had  been  jarred. 
"He  touch  your  hair!" 

So  simple,  his  comment  yet  pierced  to  the  heart  of  the 
matter.  Newton  had  fondled  her  hair,  crown  and  sym 
bol  of  her  womanhood,  a  privilege  of  marriage.  In  an 
Indian  tribe  the  offence  would  have  loosed  the  slipping 
knife ;  a  settler  would  have  resented  it  with  knarled  fist. 
But  here  the  women  tittered,  while  Chapman,  who  just 
then  sauntered  in,  laughed. 

Emboldened,  perhaps,  by  immunity,  the  man's  offen- 
siveness  developed  into  actual  insult  the  evening  of  that 
same  day.  They  had  all  been  pulling  taffy  in  the 
kitchen,  and,  passing  through  a  dark  passage  to  the 
living-room,  Helen  felt  an  arm  slip  about  her  waist. 
Newton's  face  was  still  tingling  from  a  vigorous  slap 

176 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

when  she  confronted  him  before  them  all  in  the  living- 
room.  Even  his  hardihood  quailed  before  her  flushed 
and  contemptuous  anger;  he  was  not  quite  so  ready 
with  his  excuse. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Carter!  Really,  I  mistook 
you  for  my  wife." 

It  was  a  lie  on  the  face  of  it,  and,  barbed  with  stinging 
truth,  her  retort  drew  a  peal  of  laughter  from  the  others. 
"Indeed?  Your  excuse  is  more  remarkable  than  your 
mistake." 

Offended  as  much  by  the  laugh  as  the  insult,  she 
seated  herself  on  a  lounge  by  Leslie,  the  one  man  with 
whom  she  always  felt  safe.  In  him  the  stigma  of  de 
generacy  took  another  form;  the  tired  blood  expressed 
itself  in  a  prodigious  simplicity.  He  lacked  even  the 
elements  of  vice.  As  his  wife  put  it,  "Fred  is  too 
stupid  to  be  wicked."  Yet,  withal,  he  was  very  much 
of  a  man  as  far  as  his  chuckleheadedness  permitted,  and 
now  he  offered  real  sympathy. 

"It  was  a  caddish  trick,  Mrs.  Carter,  and  I  mean  to 
tell  him  so." 

"Oh  no!"  she  pleaded.  "It  wouldn't  improve  mat 
ters  to  make  a  scene,  and  he's  not  likely  to  offend  again. 
Please  don't?  Stay  here — with  me." 

"  But  I'm  your  host.     Really,  he  deserves  a  thrashing. " 

"No,  no!  Stay  here!  I  don't  feel  equal  to  the  oth 
ers." 

"I  never  do."  Sitting  again,  he  turned  on  her  a  look 
of  beaming  fellowship.  "The  girls  all  yawn  and  look 
terribly  bored  when  I  try  to  amuse  them — except  you. 
They  don't  seem  to  care  for  horses  and  dogs,  the  things 
that  interest  me." 

If ,  as  a  conversationalist,  he  did  not  shine,  he  at  least 
brought  her  the  first  easy  moments  she  had  known  that 
day,  and  she  turned  a  sympathetic  ear  to  some  of  his 

177 


THE  SETTLER 

prattle.  Indicating  Rhodes,  who  was  leaning  over  Mrs. 
Leslie,  he  said:  "You  know  I  don't  like  that  sort  of 
thing.  Elinor  says  I'm  old-fashioned,  and  I  suppose 
she  knows.  Of  course  she  wouldn't  do  anything  that 
wasn't  proper,  but  a  fellow  has  his  feelings,  and  it 
doesn't  take  a  crime  to  hurt  them,  does  it?  She's  up 
on  the  conventions;  but  it  does  seem  to  me  that  if  a 
fellow  has  anything  to  say  to  another  fellow's  wife  he 
ought  to  say  it  aloud." 

Astonished  that  his  dulness  should  have  sensed  the 
pervading  sensualism,  she  studied  him  while  he  watched 
his  wife,  in  his  eyes  something  of  that  pitiful  pleading 
one  sees  in  those  of  a  beaten  dog.  His  words  banished 
her  doubts  as  to  whether  her  own  misgivings  did  not 
root  in  hypercritical  standards — restored  her  viewpoint. 
All  week  the  atmosphere  had  thickened,  as  constant 
association  banished  reserve,  and  to-day  freedom  had 
attained  its  meridian.  It  was  not  the  matter  but  the 
manner  of  conversation  that  filled  her  with  a  great  un 
easiness — the  whispers,  asides,  smiling  stares,  conscious 
laughter.  The  vitiated  atmosphere  caused  her  a  feeling 
of  suffocation,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  sick  revulsion 
Leslie  dropped  a  remark  that  came  to  her  like  a  breath 
of  ozone. 

"I  was  awfully  sorry  to  hear  of  the  trouble  between 
you  and  Carter.  I  always  thought  him  such  a  fine 
fellow.  He  hadn't  much  use  for  me — any  of  us — still  I 
liked  him.  He  was  a  bit  on  the  rough,  of  course;  but,  I 
tell  you,  character  counts  more  than  culture,  strength 
than  refinement." 

Character  counts  more  than  culture,  strength  than 
refinement?  To  his  simplicity  had  been  vouched  wis 
dom  worthy  of  a  philosopher.  The  phrase  stabbed  her. 
Before  her  rose  a  vision  of  her  husband  as  she  had  seen 
him  that  last  miserable  night,  cold,  stern,  inexorable,  in 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

the  loom  of  the  moonlight.  In  view  of  that  colossal 
memory,  the  Englishmen  about  her  dwarfed  to  effemi 
nate  insignificance.  Vividly  her  own  doubting  recurred. 
And  she  had  traded  him — for  this !  The  thought  brought 
wretchedness  too  great  for  concealment.  Her  uneasiness , 
was  so  manifest  as  to  form  the  theme  of  a  bedroom  con 
versation. 

Though  comfortable — the  one  frame  house  in  the  set 
tlements,  a  palace  to  Canadian  eyes  —  Leslie's  house 
boasted  only  two  bedrooms;  so  while  the  men  made 
shift  on  shake-downs,  Helen  shared  Mrs.  Leslie's  rooms, 
Edith  Newton  and  Mrs.  Jack  the  other. 

As  she  braided  her  hair  for  the  night,  the  latter  lady 
opened  the  conversation.  "  Did  you  notice  how  uncom 
fortable  little  Carter  was  this  evening?  She  is  a  nice 
little  thing,  but  she  doesn't  mix.  I  don't  see  why 
Elinor  invited  her." 

"You  don't,  eh?"  Edith  Newton  mumbled  a  mouth 
ful  of  pins.  "You  are  slow,  Maud." 

"No — only  lazy.  Why  should  I  puzzle  over  things 
when  you  are  here?  I'll  bet  you  have  pumped  every 
body  dry  long  ago.  Now — dispense!" 

"I  don't  go  round  with  my  eyes  shut,"  the  other 
calmly  answered.  "To  begin :  Calvert  Molyneux  is  com 
pletely  gone  on  little  Carter,  whose  husband,  it  seems, 
left  her  because  of  some  slight." 

"Hum!"  Mrs.  Jack  elevated  her  straight  brows. 
"Foolish  man  to  leave  her  to  Calvert.  So  that  is  why 
he  went  home!  Exits  till  the  tarnished  pearl  be  re- 
gulped  by  the  conjugal  oyster?  Clever!" 

"On  the  contrary" — she  curled  a  full  red  lip — "he 
contemplates  honorable  marriage — dalliance,  Dakota,  di 
vorce,  everything  that  begins  with  D,  down  to  eventual 
desertion,  if  I  know  anything  of  Calvert.  But  fancy — 
HE!" 

179 


THE  SETTLER 

'"The  devil  in  love,  the  devil  a  husband  would  be,'" 
Mrs.  Jack  misquoted. 

"'The  devil  married,  the  devil  a  husband  was  he/" 
Edith  Newton  finished.  "But  he  is  not  married  yet. 
She  holds  him  off — foolishly.  For  you  know  Calvert, 
good  in  streaks,  but  ruled  by  his  emotions  and  ruthless 
when  they  command.  If  she  turns  him  down — " 

"She'll  need  to  keep  him  at  longer  distance  than  this 
house  affords.  But  Elinor? — this  doesn't  explain  her. 
She's  beastly  selfish  under  her  jolly  little  skin.  Why  is 
she  posing  as  aid  and  advocate  of  love  ?" 

"In  love  with  Carter  hubby — or  was  would  be  more 
correct,  in  view  of  her  carryings-on  with  Sinclair.  But  the 
Carter  attack,  I  understand,  was  very  severe  while  it  last 
ed.  Think  of  it,  Maud,  Elinor  to  fall  in  love  with  a  settler!" 

Mrs.  Jack  elevated  naked  shoulders.  "Not  at  all  sur 
prising.  Just  the  itch  of  her  rotten  blood  for  a  few 
sound  corpuscles.  I've  felt  it  myself  at  times.  Don't 
look  so  shocked — you  know  we  are  rotten." 

"Maud!     Maud!" 

Humming  a  bar  of  "  La  Boheme,"  Mrs.  Jack  regarded 
her  companion  through  narrowed  lids.  "I  believe,  Edith, 
you  keep  up  appearances  with  yourself.  Why  not  be 
natural  for  a  change  ?  But,  as  you  say,  Elinor  seems  to 
have  made  a  complete  convalescence.  Did  you  ever  see 
a  woman  make  suck  a  projectile  of  herself  ?  Positively 
hurls  herself  at  Sinclair.  But  tell  me  more  about  the 
Carter  man.  How  did  he  treat  her  rabies?" 

"Cold-water  cure.     Turned  her  down — flat." 

"So  in  revenge  she's  trying  to  besmirch  the  wife? 
The  little  devil!  I  call  that  pretty  raw,  Edith." 

The  other  shrugged.  "Oh,  well,  it  is  her  pie,  and  if 
she  prefers  it  uncooked  it  is  none  of  our  business.  Bet 
ter  keep  your  fingers  out  of  it,  Maud.  Struggle  with 
your  good  intentions." 

1 80 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

Mrs.  Jack  smiled  sweetly.  "My  dear,  am  I  in  the 
habit  of  messing  alien  pies?" 

"Not  unless  you  covet  the  meat." 

"Well,  I'm  not  hankering  after  either  Calvert  or  Carter 
hubby,  though  I  must  say  that  I  like  his  specifications. 
Showed  awfully  good  taste  both  in  selecting  his  wife  and 
rejecting  Elinor.  Fancy!  a  virtuous  man — in  this  day!" 

By  this  time  Edith  Newton  was  disposed  in  bed.  A 
sleepy  answer  came  from  under  the  clothing.  "Proves 
he  hadn't  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance." 

"Nor  yours,"  Mrs.  Jack  retorted. 

Her  flippancy  masked  a  disquiet  so  grave  as  to  drive 
away  the  desire  for  sleep.  Clad  only  in  her  bed-gown, 
she  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  stove,  which  returned  her 
thoughtful  gaze  through  two  red  monocles  of  isinglass. 
In  her  fair -play  was  associated  with  its  companion 
virtue  frankness,  and  in  no  wise  could  she  read  a  mite 
of  the  former  quality  into  Elinor  Leslie's  intent  towards 
Helen.  After  many  uneasy  shruggings,  she  rose,  took 
the  lamp,  and  walked  into  the  other  bedroom. 

"Misplaced  my  comb,"  she  answered  Mrs.  Leslie's 
sleepy  inquiry.  "Lend  me  yours."  Then  she  paused 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

Helen  had  coiled  her  hair  for  the  night,  but  its  unruly 
masses  had  loosened  and  ran,  a  perfect  cataract  of  gold, 
over  her  pillow.  Against  that  auriferous  background 
lay  her  head  and  face,  with  its  delicate  creams  and  pinks 
sinking  into  the  plumpness  of  one  white  arm.  The  other 
was  folded  over  the  softness  of  her  bosom.  Mrs.  Jack 
thought  her  asleep  till  her  eyes  opened,  then,  returning 
the  girl's  smile,  she  tiptoed  back  to  her  fire. 

"It's  a  damned  shame,"  she  told  herself,  profanely, 
but  truly,  and  with  such  vigor  that  Edith  Newton  sleepily 
asked:  "What's  the  matter?  Aren't  you  ever  coming 
to  bed,  Maud?" 

'3  181 


THE  SETTLER 

"  Saying  my  prayers.     Go  to  sleep." 

"  Put  in  a  word  for  me,"  the  other  murmured. 

''The  Lord  knows  that  you  need  it."  Mrs.  Jack 
glanced  at  the  bed,  then  returned  to  her  musings.  "Of 
course  she's  a  little  fool.  If  she  goes  back  to  her  hus 
band  she  will  have  to  settle  down  to  the  humdrum  of 
settler  life — raise  calves,  chickens,  pigs,  and  children  in 
the  fear  of  the  Lord,  with  only  a  church  picnic  or  some 
such  wild  dissipation  to  break  the  deadly  monotony.  A 
pleasing  prospect,  I  must  say.  But  if  it  suits  her — well, 
I'm  not  going  to  see  her  delivered,  bound  and  bleating, 
into  the  hands  of  the  devil,  alias  Calvert  Molyneux. 
It  seems  a  shame,  either  way,  but  she  undoubtedly 
loves  her  settler  hubby,  and  she's  just  the  kind  to  eat 
her  heart  out  through  remorse  and  shame.  And  here 
is  Elinor  blackening  her  reputation  with  the  pig  settlers 
to  whom  she  must  look  for  a  living,  making  reconcilia 
tion  impossible!  Well,  I'm  going  to  speak  to  the  little 
fool  to-morrow." 

This  she  did,  making  her  opportunity  by  carrying 
Helen  off  to  her  bedroom,  where,  having  disposed  her 
victim  in  a  comfortable  chair,  she  herself  snuggled  down 
upon  the  bed  and  went  with  customary  frankness 
straight  to  the  heart  of  her  subject.  "I  want  to  know, 
Helen  Carter,  why  you  are  here?" 

Puzzled,  Helen  stared;  then,  interpreting  by  the  smile, 
she  answered,  "I — really,  I — don't  know." 

"A — pretty — poor — reason!"  She  shook  her  finger  in 
affected  anger.  ' '  Don't  you  know  that  you  don't  belong  ? 
Now  don't  flare  up!  If  I  were  Edith  Newton,  or  Elinor, 
the  cat,  you  might  suspect  a  reflection.  It  isn't  that 
you  are  below  grade  —  just  the  opposite.  Frankly, 
my  dear,  we  are  a  rotten  lot.  A  sweet  girl,  with  con 
science  and  morality  has  no  business  among  us.  We 
couldn't  scrape  up  enough  of  either  article  to  outfit  a 

182 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

respectable  cat.  Don't  blush.  I'm  not  envying  you 
your  conscience.  It  is  a  most  uncomfortable  asset,  and, 
given  choice  of  two  evils,  I'd  take  a  harelip.  But,  as 
you  have  one — well,  you'd  better  mizzle — go  home,  you 
know." 

Having  eased  herself  by  this  delivery,  Mrs.  Jack  sigh 
ed,  sat  up,  rolled  herself  a  cigarette,  and  went  on,  after  a 
contented  puff:  "Don't  tell  on  me,  my  dear.  Not  that 
I  care  a  whoop — that's  American,  isn't  it  ?  I  love  your 
slang;  it  is  so  expressive  and  comfortable  to  the  feelings. 
But,  you  see,  rakishness  has  no  attractions  for  the  fool 
male  of  our  species.  He  resents  any  infringement  of  his 
monopoly.  Even  such  a  degenerate  ass  as  Charles  New 
ton  prefers  school-girl  simplicity.  So  one  must  needs 
simulate  virgin  innocence,  however  painful.  That's  more 
of  your  delightful  sUng.  Now — when  are  you  going?" 

The  question  anticipated  the  conclusion  of  Helen's 
midnight  tossings;  but,  if  unchanged  in  substance,  this 
had  nevertheless  been  modified  by  cooler  morning  reflec 
tions.  She  stated  the  qualifications — 'Jenny  was  visit 
ing  in  Lone  Tree,  and  would  not  return  till  Saturday. 
Only  two  more  days!  Her  visit  would  then  come  to  a 
natural  end,  so  why  offend  by  abrupt  departure  ? 

Mrs.  Jack  laughed.  "I  don't  think  Elinor  would  be 
so  very  dreadfully  offended.  Why?  Well,  it  is  ungra 
cious  to  criticise  one's  hostess,  but — you  have  trapped 
her  rabbit." 

"Her— rabbit?" 

"Yes— Sinclair  Rhodes." 

"Why,  he  paid  me  less  attention  than  any  of  the 
others;  was  less — you'll  pardon  me — offensive.  I  even 
thought  he  tried  to  keep  them  away." 

"As  the  lion  drives  the  jackals.  Avoid  him,  my  dear. 
Well,  I  suppose  that  a  couple  more  days  won't  hurt. 
We  are  to  stay  a  week  longer,  and  if  Elinor  asks  you— 


THE  SETTLER 

which  she  won't — you  must  refuse.  Now  let  us  go  out 
before  they  begin  to  suspect  a  conspiracy." 

"But  first  let  me  thank  you.  I  have  been  so  miserable, 
and  you  have  done  me  so  much  good." 

Mrs.  Jack  gently  patted  the  hand  that  caught  her  arm, 
an  action  totally  at  variance  with  her  answer.  "Self- 
interest,  I  assure  you.  Elinor  is  not  the  only  sufferer. 
You  have  depleted  the  entire  preserve.  Not  a  man  has 
looked  at  me  the  last  three  days.  There,  there!  You 
needn't  believe  it  if  you  don't  want  to." 

Could  Mrs.  Jack's  frank  eyes  have  pierced  the  imme 
diate  future,  she  would  have  made  her  warning  against 
Rhodes  more  specific.  On  Thursday  of  that  week  Leslie 
drove  his  heavy  team  and  bobs  into  Lone  Tree  for  sup 
plies,  and,  what  of  the  thawing  trails,  could  not  possibly 
be  back  till  all  hours  Saturday  night.  Not  knowing  this, 
Mrs.  Jack  made  no  objection  when,  Saturday  morning, 
Danvers  drove  over  with  Molyneux's  double  cutter  and 
carried  off  herself  and  the  Newtons  to  visit  a  friend  west 
of  the  Assiniboin. 

"You'll  be  here  till  after  supper,"  she  said  to  Helen, 
leaving.  "So  I  won't  say  good-bye." 

But  she  miscalculated  both  the  warmth  of  the  friend's 
welcome  and  the  heavy  sledding.  When  she  returned, 
long  after  dark,  she  found  Mrs.  Leslie  reading  a  novel 
by  her  bedroom  stove.  In  a  loose  wrapper,  crossed  feet 
comfortably  propped  on  the  plated  stove-rail,  a  plate  of 
red  apples  at  her  elbow,  and  the  light  comfortably  ad 
justed  on  the  table  behind  her,  she  was  the  picture  of 
comfort.  "Having  a  jolly  good  time  all  by  myself,"  she 
explained.  "Fred's  not  home  yet,  and  Captain  Chap 
man  went  over  to  win  a  little  from  Ernest  Poole  at  poker. 
Helen  ?  Just  gone.  She  waited  and  waited  and  waited, 
but  you  were  so  late  that  we  both  thought  you  had  con 
cluded  to  stay  the  night.  Didn't  you  pass  her  at  the 

184 


A  HOUSE-PARTY 

Forks — or  hear  the  bells  ?  That  double  string  of  Fred's 
can  be  heard  to  heaven  on  a  still  night." 

"Oh,  was  that  she?  Hired  man  came  for  her,  I 
suppose?"  Mrs.  Jack  indifferently  inquired,  as  she  laid 
off  her  furs. 

"No.  Sinclair  drove  her  with  our  ponies.  What's 
the  matter?" 

Eyes  dark  and  dilated  with  fear,  Mrs.  Jack  faced  her. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me — "  Breaking  hastily  off,  she 
ran  through  bed  and  living  rooms,  almost  upsetting 
Newton  on  her  way  to  the  outer  door.  "Mr.  Danvers! 
Oh,  Mr.  Danvers!  Mr.  Danvers!  Mr. — Danvers!"  she 
called. 

But  the  night  returned  only  the  clash  of  his  bells. 

Sweeping  back  in,  she  faced  Mrs.  Leslie,  flushed  with 
the  one  righteous  emotion  of  her  fast  life.  "You  let 
her  go  out — alone — with  that — "  Choking,  she  ran  into 
her  own  room  and  slammed  the  door,  leaving  the  other 
two  women  staring. 

Edith  Newton  answered  the  lift  of  the  other's  eye 
brows.  "Another  of  Maud's  raves." 


XVII 

AND    ITS     FINALE 

BUT  for  the  bells  and  groan  of  runners,  which  drowned 
sound  for  them  even  as  it  did  for  Danvers,  Helen 
and  Rhodes  were  near  enough  to  have  heard  Mrs.  Jack's 
call.  Interpreting  the  latter's  warning  morally,  Helen 
had  accepted  Rhodes 's  escort  as  the  lesser  of  two  evils, 
or,  if  she  had  speculated  on  tentative  attempts  at  flirta 
tion,  had  not  doubted  her  own  ability  to  snub  them. 

A  sudden  frost,  winter's  last  desperate  clutch  at  the 
throat  of  spring,  had  hardened  the  sun-rotted  trails;  and 
as  the  cutter  sped  swiftly  over  the  first  mile,  she  chatted 
freely,  without  thought  of  danger.  Of  the  three  male 
guests,  Rhodes  had,  as  aforeseen,  pestered  her  least,  so, 
ignorant  of  the  pitiless  brutality  masked  by  his  reserve, 
she  was  paralyzed — almost  fainted — when  his  arm  sud 
denly  dropped  from  the  cutter-rail  to  her  waist. 

Recovering,  she  spoke  sharply,  "Take  it  away!" 

Instead,  he  drew  her  tighter.  She  could  not  see  his 
face;  but  as  she  struck,  madly,  blindly,  at  its  dim  white 
ness,  his  laugh,  heartless,  cynical,  came  out  of  the  dusk. 
"Kick,  bite,  scratch  all  you  want,  my  little  beauty,"  he 
said,  forcing  his  face  against  hers,  "your  struggles  are 
sweet  as  caresses." 

Yet,  withal  his  boast,  he  found  it  difficult  to  hold  her. 
Twice  she  broke  his  grip  and  almost  leaped  from  the 
sleigh;  and  as  she  fought  his  face  away,  her  hand  sud 
denly  touched  the  reins  that  were  looped  over  his  arm. 

186 


—AND  ITS  FINALE 

In  the  black  confusion  he  was  unable  to  specify  just 
what  happened  thereafter.  He  knew  that,  alarmed  by 
the  scuffling,  the  ponies  had  burst  into  a  gallop;  but, 
though  he  felt  her  relax,  he  could  not  see  her  throw  all 
of  her  weight  into  a  sudden  jerk  on  the  left  rein.  Ensued 
a  heaving,  tumultuous  moment.  Pulled  from  the  trail, 
the  ponies  plunged  into  deep  drift.  The  cutter  bucked 
like  a  live  thing,  and  as  it  dropped  from  the  high  trail 
a  runner  cracked  with  a  pistol  report.  Simultaneously 
they  were  thrown  out  into  deep,  cold  snow. 

They  fell  clear  of  each  other,  and  Helen  heard  Rhodes 
swearing  as  he  ran  to  the  ponies'  heads.  The  sound 
spurred  her  to  action.  She  could  only  count  on  a 
minute,  and,  rising,  she  ran,  stumbling,  falling  headlong 
into  drifts  to  rise  and  plunge  on,  in  her  heart  the  terror 
of  the  hunted  thing.  Each  second  she  expected  to  hear 
his  pursuing  foot.  But  he  had  to  tie  the  ponies  to  a 
prairie  poplar,  and  by  that  time  she  had  gained  a  bluff 
two  hundred  yards  away,  and  was  crouched  like  a  chased 
hare  in  its  heart. 

That  poor  covert  would  not  have  sufficed  against  a 
frontiersman.  Tracking  by  the  fainter  whiteness  of 
broken  snow,  he  would  soon  have  flushed  the  trembling 
game,  but  it  was  ample  protection  from  Rhodes's  ineffi 
ciency.  Alarmed  when  he  saw  that  she  was  gone,  he 
ran  back  and  forth,  shouting,  coupling  her  name  with 
promises  of  good  behavior.  As  her  line  of  flight  had 
angled  but  slightly  from  the  trail,  she  heard  him  plainly. 

"My  God!  You'll  freeze!  Mrs.  Carter!  Oh,  Mrs. 
Carter!  Do  come  out!  I  was  only  joking!" 

She  did  not  require  his  assurance  as  to  the  freezing. 
Already  her  limbs  were  numb,  her  teeth  chattered  so 
loudly  she  was  afraid  he  would  hear.  But  she  preferred 
the  frost's  mercy  to  his,  and  so  lay,  shivering,  until,  in 
despair,  he  got  the  ponies  back  to  the  trail  and  drove 


/  THE  SETTLER 

rapidly  away.  Then  she  came  out  and  headed  home 
ward  like  a  bolting  rabbit.  Twice  she  was  scared  back 
into  the  snow:  once  when  Rhodes  turned  about  and 
dashed  down  and  back  the  trail;  again  just  before  she 
picked  Leslie's  voice  from  passing  bells.  He  was  merely 
talking  to  his  horses,  but  never  before  had  his  voice 
fallen  so  sweetly  on  pretty  ears. 

As  at  some  wan  ghost,  he  stared  at  the  dim,  draggled 
figure  that  came  up  to  him  out  of  the  snows;  indeed, 
half  frozen  and  wholly  frightened,  she  was  little  more 
than  the  ghost  of  herself.  "The  cad!"  he  stormed,  hear 
ing  her  story.  "I'll  punch  his  head  to-morrow!"  And 
he  maintained  that  rude  intention  up  to  the  moment 
that  he  dropped  her  at  her  own  door. 

"Don't!"  she  called  after  him.  "Elinor  won't  like 
it."  But  the  caution  was  for  his  own  good,  and  she  was 
not  so  very  much  cast  down  when  he  persisted. 

"Then  she  can  lump  it!"  he  shouted  back. 

The  proverb  gives  the  trampled  worm  rather  more 
than  due  credit  when  one  remembers  that  a  barrel-hoop 
can  outturn  the  very  fiercest  worm,  but  it  should  be 
remembered  in  Leslie's  favor  that  he  mutinied  in  the 
cause  of  another.  Having  all  of  the  obstinacy  of  his 
dulness,  he  went  straighter  to  his  end  because  it  was 
allied  with  that  narrow,  bull-dog  vision  which  excludes 
all  but  one  object  from  the  field  of  sight.  Meeting 
Rhodes,  Chapman,  and  Newton,  with  lanterns,  at  the 
point  where  the  sleigh  had  capsized,  he  rushed  the 
former  and  was  living  in  the  strict  letter  of  his  intention 
when  the  others  pulled  him  away.  They  could  not, 
however,  dam  his  indignant  speech.  On  that  vast,  dark 
stage,  with  the  lanterns  shedding  a  golden  aureole  about 
Rhodes  and  his  bleeding  mouth,  he  gave  them  the  un 
diluted  truth,  as  it  is  said  to  flow  from  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  sucklings. 

1 88 


—AND  ITS  FINALE 

Arrived  home,  moreover,  he  staggered  his  wife  by  his 
stubborn  opposition.  "It  is  no  use  talking,  Elinor,"  he 
said,  closing  a  bitter  argument.  "To-morrow  I  go  to 
the  bush  for  a  load  of  wood,  and  if  that  cad  is  here  when 
I  return  I'll  break  a  whip  on  his  back."  Then,  ignoring 
her  bitten  lips,  clinched  hands,  the  bitter  fury  that  was 
to  produce  such  woful  consequences,  he  went  quietly 
off  to  bed. 

Of  all  this,  however,  Helen  remained  in  ignorance  until 
after  the  denouement  that  came  a  few  days  later  along 
with  a  scattering  of  new  snow.  Those  were  days  of 
misery  for  her  —  of  remorseful  brooding,  self-reproach, 
hot  shame  that  set  her  at  bitter  introspection  that  she 
might  find  and  root  out  the  germs  of  wickedness  that 
had  brought  these  successive  insults.  As  hundreds  of 
good  girls  before  her,  as  thousands  will  after  her,  she 
wondered  if  she  were  really  the  possessor  of  some  un 
suspected  sensuousness.  Comparisons,  too,  were  forced 
upon  her.  Revolting  from  the  rough  settler  life,  she 
had  turned  to  the  English  set  only  to  find  that  their 
polished  ease  was  but  the  veneer  of  their  degeneracy, 
analogous  to  the  phosphorescence  given  off  in  the  dark 
by  a  poisoned  fish,  and  equally  indicative  of  decay. 
She  could  not  fail  to  contrast  her  husband's  sterling 
worth  with  their  moral  and  intellectual  leprosy. 

The  nights  were  still  more  trying.  She  would  sit, 
evenings,  and  stare  at  the  lamp  as  though  it  were  the 
veritable  flame  of  life,  while  her  spirit  quested  after  the 
cause  of  things  and  the  root  of  many  enigmas.  Why,  for 
instance,  is  it  that  pitilessness,  ferocity,  ruth,  which 
were  good  in  the  youth  of  the  world,  should  cause  such 
evil  in  its  old  age?  For  what  reason  the  cause  of  the 
lily  willed  also  its  blight?  Why  conditions  make  fish 
of  one  woman,  flesh  of  another,  and  fowl  of  a  third,  and 
wherefore  any  one  of  them  should  be  damned  for  doing 

189 


THE  SETTLER 

what  she  couldn't  help  in  following  the  dictates  of  her 
nature?  In  fact,  from  the  duration  of  her  reveries,  she 
may  have  entertained  all  of  the  hundred  and  odd  ques 
tions  with  which  the  atom  pelts  the  infinite,  and,  judg 
ing  from  her  dissatisfaction,  she  received  the  usual  an 
swer — Why  ?  It  is  nature's  wont  to  deliver  her  lessons 
in  parables,  from  which  each  must  extract  his  or  her  own 
meanings;  and  a  momentous  page  was  turned  in  Helen's 
lesson  the  day  that  she  rode  over  to  Leslie's  to  verify  a 
rumor  which  Nels  had  brought  from  the  post-office. 

As  sleighing  was  practically  over  and  wheeling  not 
yet  begun,  she  went  horseback.  As  aforesaid,  a  scatter 
ing  of  new  snow  covered  the  prairies,  and  she  rode 
through  a  bitter  prospect.  Everywhere  yellow  grass 
tussocks  or  tall  brown  weeds  thrust  through  the  scant 
whiteness  to  wave  in  the  chill  wind.  Under  the  sky's 
enormous  gray,  scrub  and  bluff  and  blackened  drifts 
stood  out,  harsh  studies  in  black  and  white.  Nature 
was  in  the  blues,  and  all  sentient  things  shared  her  dull 
humor.  Winging  north,  in  V  or  harrow  formations,  the 
wild  ducks  quacked  their  discontent.  Peevish  snipe 
cursed  the  weather  as  they  dipped  from  slough  to  slough. 
A  lone  coyote  complained  that  the  season  transcended 
his  experience,  then  broke  off  his  plaint  to  chase  a 
rabbit,  of  whose  red  death  Helen  was  shuddering  witness. 

The  settlement  was  even  less  cheerful.  Such  houses 
as  she  passed  rose  like  dirty  smudges  from  the  frozen 
mud  of  their  dooryards.  Moreover,  the  looks  of  the  few 
settlers  she  met  were  not  conducive  of  better  spirits. 
MacCloud,  a  bigoted  Presbyterian  of  the  old  Scotch-Ca 
nadian  school,  gave  her  a  malignant  grin  in  exchange 
for  her  nod.  Three  Shinn  boys,  big  louts,  burst  into  a 
loud  guffaw  as  their  wagon  rattled  by  her  at  the  forks 
of  Leslie's  trail.  Their  comment,  "Guess  she  hain't 
heard!"  increased  her  apprehension. 

190 


-AND  ITS  FINALE 

She  could  now  see  the  house,  smokeless,  apparently 
lifeless,  frowning  down  from  a  snow-clad  ridge.  But 
when,  a  minute  later,  she  knocked,  Leslie  answered,  and 
she  entered.  The  living-room,  with  its  associations  of 
gayety,  was  dank,  cold,  cheerless.  Ash  littered  the  fire- 
less  stove;  the  floor  was  unswept;  the  air  gave  back  her 
breath  in  a  steamy  cloud.  Through  the  bedroom  door 
she  saw  drawers  and  boxes  wide  open,  their  contents 
tossed  and  tumbled  as  though  some  one  had  rummaged 
them  for  valuable  contents.  And  amid  these  ruins  of  a 
home  Leslie  sat,  head  bowed  in  his  hands. 

"You  poor  man!"  she  cried.     "You  poor,  poor  man!" 

He  turned  up  his  face,  and  its  sick  misery  reminded 
her  of  a  worm  raising  its  mangled  head  from  under  a 
passing  wheel  as  though  questing  a  reason  for  its  sud 
den  taking  off.  His  words  strengthened  the  impres 
sion:  "I  couldn't  seem  to  satisfy  her,  and  she  was  angry 
because  I  took  your  part  against  him.  Of  course  she 
isn't  so  much  to  blame.  I  did  as  well  as  I  could,  but 
I'm  neither  clever  nor  ornamental,  like  Rhodes.  But  I 
tried  to  treat  her  well,  didn't  I?  You  shall  judge." 

"You  did — of  course  you  did,  poor  man!"  she  sobbed. 

"Then  why  did  she  leave  me?" 

Somehow  his  blind  questioning  raised  the  prairie  trag 
edy  in  her  mind.  The  rabbit's  death-scream  was  equally 
sincere  in  its  protest  against  inscrutable  fate  in  the  coy 
ote's  green  eyes.  Its  innocence  was  blameless  as  this. 
Yet — how  could  she  answer  problems  as  unsolvable  as 
her  own  ? 

"I  have  been  a  fool,"  he  went  on;  and  his  next  words 
helped  to  lessen  the  astonishment,  though  not  the  pain, 
which  his  calamity  had  brought  her.  "A  blind  fool! 
When  we  used  to  drive  out  to  Regis  last  summer  it 
was  going  on — I  can  see  it  now.  They  did  their  billing 
and  cooing  under  my  very  eyes.  Yet  they  were  not  so 

191 


THE  SETTLER 

clever,  after  all,  were  they?  I  trusted  her — with  my 
honor,  expecting  her  to  protect  it  as  I  would  have  de 
fended  her  virtue.  Was  I  at  fault?  If  a  man  can't 
trust  his  wife,  what  can  he  do?  Surely  not  lock  her  up. 
What  could  I  do?" 

Puzzled,  she  stood  and  looked  down  upon  him.  But 
under  its  delicate  complexities  the  feminine  mind  is  ever 
practical,  and  her  attention  quickly  turned  to  his  physi 
cal  welfare.  He  must  be  taken  away  —  weaned  from 
his  sick  brooding,  blind  questioning.  "Have  you  eaten 
to-day?"  she  asked.  "Not  for  three  days!  Go  out  and 
harness  your  ponies  at  once,  and  come  home  with  me  to 
supper."  Anticipating  objection,  she  added,  "Really, 
you  must,  for  I  am  too  tired  to  ride  back  again." 

Her  little  fiction  was  hardly  necessary,  he  found  it  so 
easy  to  let  her  do  his  thinking.  He  obeyed  as  one  in  a 
trance;  and  not  till  they  drove  away,  leading  her  pony 
behind,  did  action  dissipate  his  lethargy.  Then  he  began 
to  display  some  signs  of  animation. 

It  was  a  silent  and  uncomfortable  drive.  Instead  of 
the  usual  lively  jingle,  pole  and  harness  rattled  dully, 
the  light  snow  hushed  the  merry  song  of  the  wheels  to  a 
slushy  dirge.  The  raw  air,  bleak  sky,  slaty  grays  of  the 
dull  prospect  were  eminently  oppressive.  Nature  had 
shed  her  illusions  and,  fronting  her  cold  materialism, 
there  was  no  dodging  issues.  Facts  thrust  themselves 
too  rudely  upon  consciousness.  Leslie  spoke  but  once, 
and  the  remark  proved  that  the  chill  realities  had  set 
him  again  at  the  riddle  of  life. 

"I  shall  sell  out,"  he  said,  as  the  ponies  swung  in  on 
Carter's  trail.  "Go  to  South  Africa.  My  brother  is  a 
mining  superintendent  on  the  Rand." 

She  sighed.     "I  can't  go  to  South  Africa." 

Rousing  from  his  own  trouble,  he  looked  at  her. 
"You  don't  need  to.  You'll  see.  Carter  will  come 

192 


—AND  ITS  FINALE 

home  one  of  these  days."  And  during  the  few  days 
that  he  stayed  with  her  he  extended  such  brotherly 
sympathy  that  she  felt  sincerely  sorry  when,  having 
placed  the  sale  of  his  farm  and  effects  in  the  hands  of 
Danvers,  he  followed  his  faithless  wife  out  of  her  life 
and  this  story. 


XVIII 

THE     PERSISTENCE     OP     THE     ESTABLISHED 

SAVE  for  a  few  dirty  drifts  in  the  shadows  of  the 
bluffs,  the  snow  was  all  gone  when,  one  morning  a 
week  or  so  after  Leslie's  departure,  Helen  went  south 
under  convoy  of  Jimmy  Glaves  to  open  school.  The  day 
was  beautiful.  Once  more  the  prairies  wore  the  burned 
browns  of  autumn,  but  to  eyes  that  had  grown  to  the 
vast  snowscape  during  a  half-year  of  winter  the  huge 
monochrome  rioted  in  color.  In  fact  it  had  its  values. 
There  a  passing  cloud  threw  a  patch  of  black.  Bowing 
to  the  soft  breeze,  last  year's  grass  sent  sunlit  waves 
chasing  one  another  down  to  the  far  horizon.  Here  and 
there  a  green  stain  on  the  edge  of  cropped  hay-sloughs 
bespoke  the  miracle  of  resurrection,  eternal  wonder  of 
spring,  the  young  life  bubbling  forth  from  the  decay  and 
death  of  parent  plants.  Also  the  prospect  was  check 
ered  with  the  chocolate  of  ploughed  fields.  On  these 
slow  ox-teams  crawled,  and  the  shouts  of  the  drivers, 
the  snapping  crack  of  long  whips,  alternated  as  they 
drove  along  with  the  cheep  of  running  gophers,  the  ' '  pee- 
wee"  of  snipe,  song  of  small  birds.  Noise  was  luxury 
after  the  months  of  frozen  silence.  The  warm,  damp 
air,  the  feel  of  balmy  spring,  the  sunlight  on  the  grasses 
were  delightfully  relaxing.  Helen  gave  herself  up  to  it — 
permitted  sensation  to  rule  and  banish  for  the  moment 
her  tire  and  trouble.  She  chatted  quite  happily  with  the 
trustee,  who,  however,  seemed  gloomy  and  preoccupied, 

194 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

A  philosopher  coined  a  phrase — ' '  the  persistence  of  the 
established  " — to  explain  the  survival  of  phenomena  after 
the  original  cause  lies  dead  in  the  past.  It  admirably 
defines  the  trustee's  mental  condition,  which  was  a  prod 
uct  of  causes  set  up  by  Helen  in  these  last  months. 
Ignorant  of  the  change  in  her  feeling  towards  her  Eng 
lish  friends,  he  was  vividly  aware  of  the  prejudice  which 
her  dealings  with  them  had  aroused  in  the  settlers.  In 
the  beginning  he  and  Flynn  had  earned  severe  criticism 
by  giving  her  the  school.  Since  the  Leslie  scandal  he 
doubted  their  ability  to  keep  her  in  it.  At  meeting, 
''bees,"  on  trail,  her  name  was  being  coupled  with  grins 
or  gloomy  reprobation  according  to  the  years  and  char 
acter  of  the  critics.  The  women  had  plucked  her  char 
acter  clean  as  a  chicken,  and  were  scattering  their  find 
ings  to  the  four  winds.  Just  now,  of  course,  the  heavy 
work  of  seeding  sadly  interfered  with  these  activities 
and  diversions,  but  Jimmy  looked  for  trouble  in  the 
slack  season.  If,  in  the  mean  time,  she  could  be  weaned 
from  her  liking  for  the  English  Ishmael,  they  might  be 
able  to  weather  the  prejudice.  To  which  end  he  steered 
the  conversation  to  the  greenness,  credulity,  and  execra 
ble  agriculture  of  the  remittance-people. 

"I  kain't  see,"  he  said,  among  other  things,  "what  a 
fine  gal  like  you  kin  see  in  'em.  They're  dying  stock, 
an'  one  o'  these  days  the  fool-killer  will  come  along  an' 
brain  the  hull  biling.  Brain,  did  I  say?  The  Lord  for 
give  me!  Kedn't  scratch  up  the  makings  of  one  outen 
the  hull  bunch." 

Had  she  known  his  mind  she  might  easily  have  laid 
his  misgivings.  Instead,  she  tried  to  modify  his  bitter 
opinion.  "They  are  certainly  inefficient  as  farmers. 
But  as  regards  their  credulity,  don't  you  think  it  is 
largely  due  to  a  higher  standard  of  business  honor? 
Now  when  a  Canadian  trades  horses  he  expects  to  be 


THE  SETTLER 

cheated,  while  they  are  only  looking  for  a  fair  ex 
change." 

Jimmy's  face  wrinkled  in  contemptuous  disparage 
ment.  "Hain't  that  jes*  what  I  said?  A  man  that  ex 
pects  to  get  his  own  outen  a  hoss-trade  kain't  be  killed 
too  quick.  It's  tempting  Providence  to  leave  him  loose. 
As  well  expect  a  nigger  to  leave  a  fat  rooster  as  a  Cana 
dian  to  keep  his  hands  off  sech  easy  meat.  'Tain't  hu 
man  natur'.  As  for  their  honor — "  He  sniffed.  "Pity 
it  didn't  extend  to  their  morals." 

"It  is,  indeed." 

Afterwards  they  had  many  a  tilt  on  this  same  subject. 
Smoking  in  his  doorway  of  evenings,  Jimmy  would  emit 
sarcasms  from  the  midst  of  furious  clouds,  while  she,  as 
much  for  fun  as  from  natural  feminine  perversity,  took 
the  opposite  side.  And  neither  knew  the  other's  mind — 
until  too  late.  But  placated  by  her  low  answer,  he  now 
let  the  subject  rest. 

Three  feet  of  green  water  was  slipping  over  the  river 
ice  when  they  forded  Silver  Creek,  and  they  had  to 
dodge  odd  logs,  the  vanguard  of  Carter's  drive.  "An 
other  week,"  the  trustee  remarked,  "an'  we  couldn't 
have  crossed." 

He  was  right.  That  week  a  warm  rain  ran  the  last 
of  the  snows  off  several  thousand  square  miles  of  water 
shed,  feeding  the  stream  till  it  waxed  fat  and  kicked  like 
the  scriptural  ox  against  the  load  Carter  had  saddled 
upon  it.  Snarling  viciously,  it  would  whirl  a  timber 
across  a  bend,  then  rush  on  with  mad  roar,  leaving  a 
mile  of  logs  backed  up  behind.  But  such  triumph  never 
endured.  With  axe,  pevees,  cant-hooks,  Bender  and 
his  men  broke  the  jams;  whereupon,  as  though  peevish  at 
its  failure,  the  river  swept  out  over  the  level  bottoms 
and  stranded  timbers  in  backwaters  among  dense  scrub. 

To  see  this,  the  first  log-drive  on  Silver  Creek,  the 

196 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

children  who  lived  near  the  valley  scuttled  every  day 
from  school,  and  they  would  gaze,  wide-eyed,  at  Michi 
gan  Red  riding  a  log  that  spun  like  a  top  under  his 
nimble  feet,  or  watch  the  Cougar,  shoulder-deep  in  snow 
water,  shoving  logs  at  some  ticklish  point.  Then  they 
would  hang  about  the  cook's  tent,  while  that  functionary 
juggled  with  beans  and  bacon  or  made  lumberman's 
cake  by  the  cubic  yard.  Also  there  were  peeps  into  the 
sleeping- tents,  where  men  lay  and  snored  in  boots  and 
wet  red  shirts,  just  as  they  had  come  out  of  the  river. 
Of  all  of  which  they  would  prattle  to  Helen  next  day 
at  school,  reciting  many  tales,  chief  among  them  the 
Homeric  narrative  of  the  cutting  of  a  jam — in  which  she 
had  a  special  interest,  and  which  proved,  among  other 
things,  that  Michigan  Red  was  again  at  his  old  tricks. 

It  was  Susie  Flynn  who  brought  this  tale.  Dipping 
down,  one  end  of  a  bridge  timber  had  stuck  at  an  acute 
angle  into  the  river-bed.  A  second  timber  swung  broad 
side  on  against  its  end;  then,  in  a  trice,  the  logs  had 
backed  up,  grinding  bark  to  pulp  under  their  enormous 
pressure.  "Mr.  Bender,"  Susie  said,  "he  was  for  throw 
ing  a  rope  across  from  bank  to  bank  so's  they  ked  cut 
it  from  above.  But  one  wasn't  handy,  an'  while  they 
was  waiting  a  big  red  man  comes  up  an*  hands  Mr.  Carter 
the  dare. 

"'If  you're  scairt,  gimme  the  axe  an'  I'll  show  you 
how  we  trim  a  jam  in  Michigan.' 

"But  Mr.  Carter  wouldn't  give  it.  'No,'  he  says, 
awful  quiet,  yet  sorter  funny,  for  all  the  men  laughed — 
'no.  They'll  need  you  to  show  'em  again.'  Then  he 
walks  out  on  the  jam  an'  goes  to  chopping,  with  Mr. 
Bender  calling  for  him  to  come  back  an'  not  make  a 
damn  fool  of  himself." 

The  scene  had  so  impressed  the  child  that  she  repro 
duced  every  detail  for  her  pale  audience  of  one — Carter 
14  197 


THE  SETTLER 

astride  of  the  key-log;  his  men,  bating  their  breath  with 
the  "huh"  of  his  stroke;  Bender's  distress;  the  cynical 
grin  of  Michigan  Red.  Once,  she  said,  a  floating  chip 
deflected  the  axe,  and  he  swore,  easily,  naturally,  turning 
a  smile  of  annoyance  up  to  the  bank.  It  drew  no  re 
sponse  from  eyes  that  were  glued  to  the  log,  now  quiver 
ing  under  tons  of  pressure.  A  huge  baulk,  it  broke  with 
a  thunderous  report  when  cut  a  quarter  through,  and 
loosed  a  mile  of  grinding  death  upon  the  chopper. 

Then  came  his  progress  through  the  welter.  As  the 
jam  bore  down-stream,  timbers  would  dip,  somersault, 
and  thrash  down  on  a  log  that  still  quivered  under  the 
spurn  of  his  leap.  Young  trees  raised  on  end  and  swept 
like  battering-rams  along  the  log  he  rode.  Yet,  jumping 
from  log  to  log,  he  came  up  from  death  out  of  the  turmoil 
in  safety  to  the  bank. 

"Brought  his  axe  erlong,  too!"  Susan  triumphantly 
finished.  "An*  you  should  have  jes*  seen  that  red  man — 
he  looked  that  sick  an'  green  through  his  wishy-washy 
smiling.  But  Mr.  Carter!  Ain't  he  a  brave  one?  You 
must  be  awful  proud  of  him,  ain't  you,  Miss  Helen?" 

What  could  she  answer  but  "Yes,"  though  the  trem 
bling  admission  covered  only  a  small  portion  of  her 
psychology?  Misery,  fear,  regret  made  up  the  rest. 
The  remainder  of  that  day  dragged  wearily  by  to  a 
distant  drone  of  lessons.  She,  who  had  tried  to  eject 
her  husband  from  her  life,  shuddered  as  she  thought 
how  nearly  her  wish  had  come  to  accomplishment. 
Death's  cold  breath  chilled  resentment,  expunged  the 
memory  of  her  months  of  weary  waiting.  It  would 
return,  but  in  the  mean  time  she  could  think  of  nothing 
but  his  danger.  Hurrying  home,  she  asked  Glaves  to 
saddle  her  a  horse,  saying  that  she  would  try  to  gallop 
off  a  headache. 

Heartache  would  have  been  more  correct;  but  she 

198 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

certainly  galloped,  rode  westward,  then  swung  around 
north  on  a  wide  circle  that  brought  her,  at  dusk  of  the 
short  spring  day,  out  on  a  bald  headland  that  sheered 
down  to  the  river.  Beneath  her  lay  the  camp,  with  its 
cooking-fires  nickering  like  wind-blown  roses  athwart 
the  velvet  pall  of  dusk,  and  in  either  direction  from  that 
effulgent  bouquet  a  crimson  garland  of  sentinel  fires  laid 
its  miles  of  length  along  the  valley. 

Men  moved  about  the  nearer  fires,  appearing  to  her 
distant  eyes  as  dim,  dark  shapes.  But  what  sight  re 
fused  hearing  supplied.  She  heard  the  cook  cursing  his 
kettles  with  a  volubility  that  would  have  brought  shame 
on  the  witches  in  Macbeth — the  imprecations  of  some 
lumber-jack  at  war  with  a  threatened  jam.  Above  all 
rose  the  voice  of  a  violin,  quivering  its  infinite  travail, 
expressing  the  throbbing  pain  of  the  world;  then,  from 
far  up  the  valley,  a  lonely  tenor  floated  down  the  night. 

*'He  went  to  cut  a  key-log  an'  the  jam  he  went  below, 
He  was  the  damnedest  man  that  ever  I  did  know." 

Some  lumberman  was  relieving  his  watch  by  chanting 
the  deeds  of  a  hero  of  the  camps,  and  as,  like  a  dove  of 
night,  the  voice  floated  high  over  the  river's  growl 
through  a  score  of  verses,  it  helped  to  drive  home  upon 
Helen  a  sense  of  the  imminent  jeopardy  Carter 'had 
passed  through  that  day.  While  her  beast  pawed  its 
impatience,  she  sat  for  an  hour  trying  to  pick  his  voice 
from  the  hum  of  the  camp.  It  was  easy  to  distinguish 
Bender's.  His  bass  growl  formed  the  substratum  of 
sound.  She  caught,  once,  the  Cougar's  strident  tones. 
Then,  just  as  she  was  beginning  to  despair,  a  command, 
stern  and  clear,  rose  from  the  void. 

"Lay  on  there  with  that  pevee!  Quick!  or  you'll 
have  'em  piled  to  heaven!  Here! — Bender,  Cougar! — 
lend  a  hand!  this  fellow's  letting  them  jam  on  him!" 

199 


THE  SETTLER 

She  started  as  under  a  lash.  All  that  day  she  had 
lived  in  a  whirl  of  feeling,  and,  just  as  a  resolvent  pre 
cipitates  a  chemical  mixture,  the  stern  voice  reduced 
her  feeling  to  thought.  Unfortunately,  the  tone  was  not 
in  harmony  with  her  soft  misery.  If  it  had  been  — 
well,  it  was  not.  Rather  it  recalled  his  contempt  under 
the  moonlight,  her  own  solitary  shame.  Whirling  her 
bronco,  she  cut  him  over  the  flank  and  galloped,  at 
imminent  risk  of  her  neck,  over  the  dark  prairies  in  vain 
attempt  to  escape  the  galling  recurrence  of  injured  pride, 
the  stings  of  disappointment. 

"He  doesn't  care  for  me!  He  doesn't  care  for  me!" 
It  rang  in  her  brain.  Then,  when  she  was  able  to  think, 
she  added,  in  obedience  to  the  sex  instinct  which  will  not 
admit  Love's  mortality,  "He  never  did,  otherwise  he 
couldn't  have  left  me!"  Her  conclusion,  delivered  that 
night  into  a  wet  pillow,  revealed  the  secret  hope  at  the  root 
of  her  disappointment.  "I  won't  ride  that  way  again." 

But  she  did,  and  her  changed  purpose  is  best  explained 
by  a  conversation  between  Carter  and  Bender  as  they 
stood  drying  themselves  at  the  cook's  fire  after  avert 
ing  the  threatened  jam. 

Carter  began:  "I  reckon  you  can  get  along  well 
enough  without  me.  Of  course  I'd  have  liked  to  seen 
the  drive  down  to  the  Assiniboin,  but  in  another  week 
the  frost  will  be  out  enough  to  start  prairie  grading. 
I'll  have  to  go.  Let  me  see.  .  .  .  One  week  more  on  the 
creek,  two  on  the  Assiniboin — three  weeks  will  put  the 
last  timber  into  Brandon.  In  less  than  a  month  you'll 
join  me  at  the  Prairie  Portage." 

Turning  to  bring  another  area  of  soaked  clothing  next 
to  the  fire,  his  face  came  under  strong  light.  These 
seven  months  of  thought  and  calculation  had  left  their 
mark  upon  it — thinned  and  refined  its  lines,  tooled  the 
features  into  an  almost  intellectual  cast.  His  mouth, 

200 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

perhaps,  evidenced  the  greatest  change,  showing  less  hu 
mor,  because,  perhaps,  self-repression  and  the  habit  of 
command  had  drawn  the  lips  in  tighter  lines.  Deeper 
set,  his  eyes  seemed  darker,  while  a  straight  look  into 
their  depths  revealed  an  underlying  sadness.  Sternness 
and  sadness,  indeed,  governed  the  face,  without,  how 
ever,  banishing  a  certain  grave  courtesy  that  found 
expression  in  pleasant  thanks  when,  presently,  the  cook 
brought  them  a  steaming  jug  of  coffee.  Lastly,  deter 
mination  stamped  it  so  positively  that  only  its  lively 
intelligence  saved  it  from  obstinacy.  One  glance  ex 
plained  Bender's  answer  to  Jenny:  "He's  stiffer'n  all 
hell!" — his  attitude  to  Helen.  In  him  will  dominated  the 
emotions.  Summed,  the  face,  with  its  power,  dogged 
resolution,  imperturbable  confidence,  mirrored  his  past 
struggles,  gave  earnest  for  his  future  battles. 

A  hint  of  these  last  inhered  in  a  remark  that  Bender 
slid  in  between  two  gulps  of  coffee.  "They're  saying 
as  the  C.  P.  will  never  let  you  cross  their  tracks?" 

Carter  smiled.     "  Yes  ?     Who's  saying  it  ?" 

"Oh,  everybody.  An*  the  Winnipeg  paper  said  yes 
terday  as  'Old  Brass-Bowels'" — he  gave  the  traffic 
manager  his  sobriquet — "will  enjoin  you  an*  carry  the 
case  through  the  Dominion  courts  to  the  British  privy 
council.  The  newspaper  sharp  allows  that  would  take 
about  two  years,  during  which  the  monopoly  would 
either  buy  out  or  bust  your  crowd  by  building  a  com 
peting  line." 

This  time  Carter  laughed  heartily,  the  confident  laugh 
of  one  sure  of  himself.  "So  that's  what  the  paper 
said?  Well,  well,  well!  That  scribe  person  must  be 
something  of  a  psychic.  What's  that?  Oh,  a  fellow 
who  tells  you  a  whole  lot  of  things  he  don't  know  him 
self.  Now,  listen."  (In  view  of  what  occurred  six 
months  later,  his  words  are  worth  remembering.) 

301 


THE  SETTLER 

"  Courts  or  no  courts,  privy  council  to  the  contrary, 
we'll  run  trains  across  *  Brass-Bowel's '  tracks  before 
next  freeze-up." 

"Hope  you  do,"  Bender  grinned.  "But  the  old  man 
ain't  so  very  slow." 

They  talked  more  of  construction  —  tools,  supplies, 
engineering  difficulties,  the  hundred  problems  inherent 
in  railroad-building.  Midnight  still  found  them  by  the 
fire,  that  twinkled,  a  lone  red  star,  under  the  enormous 
vault  of  night. 

But,  though  interesting  and  important,  in  that  the 
success  of  the  enterprise  involved  the  economic  freedom 
of  a  province,  the  conversation — with  one  exception — is 
not  germane  to  this  story,  which  goes  on  from  the  mo 
ment  that,  two  days  later,  a  Pengelly  boy  carried  the 
news  of  Carter's  departure  to  Helen  at  school. 

The  exception  was  delivered  by  the  mouth  of  Bender, 
as  he  rose,  stretching  with  a  mighty  yawn,  to  go  to  his 
tent.  "Of  course  it's  none  of  my  damn  business,  but 
do  you  allow  to  call  at  the  school  as  you  go  down  to 
morrow?" 

Carter's  brows  drew  into  swift  lines,  but  resentment 
faded  before  the  big  fellow's  concern.  "I  didn't  reckon 
to,"  he  said,  gently;  yet  added  the  hint,  " — since  you're 
so  pressing." 

But  Bender  would  not  down.  "Oh,  shore!"  he  pleaded. 
"Shore!  shore!" 

Carter  looked  his  impatience,  yet  yielded  another  point 
to  the  other's  distress.  "If  Mrs.  Carter  wished  to  see  me, 
I  allow  she'd  send." 

"Then  she  never  will!  she  never  will!"  Bender  cried, 
hitting  the  crux  of  their  problem.  "For  she's  jes'  as 
proud  as  you." 

With  that  he  plunged  into  the  environing  darkness, 
leaving  Carter  still  at  the  fire.  From  its  glow  his  face 

202 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

presently  raised  to  the  valley's  rim,  dim  and  ghostly 
under  a  new  moon,  ridged  with  shadowy  trees.  It  was 
only  six  miles  to  Glaves's  place,  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump  in 
that  country  of  distances.  For  some  minutes  he  stood 
like  a  stag  on  gaze;  then,  with  a  slow  shake  of  the  head, 
he  followed  Bender. 

"An*  he  ain't  coming  back  till  winter,"  the  small  boy 
informed  Helen.  "He'll  be  that  busy  with  his  rail 
roading." 

After  two  days  of  embittered  brooding,  Helen  had 
come  to  consider  herself  as  being  in  the  self-same  mood 
that  had  ruled  her  the  January  morning  when  Mrs. 
Leslie  broke  in  on  her  months  of  loneliness.  But  this 
startling  news  explained  certain  contradictions  in  her 
psychology  —  for  instance,  her  startings  and  flushings 
whenever  her  north  window  had  shown  a  moving  dot 
on  the  valley  trail  these  last  two  days.  Moreover,  her 
pallor  was  hardly  consistent  with  the  assertion,  thrice 
repeated  within  the  hour,  that  even  if  he  did  come  she 
would  never,  never,  never  forgive  him.  now !  Not  that 
she  conceded  said  contradictions.  On  the  contrary,  she 
put  up  a  gorgeous  bluff  with  herself,  affected  indifference, 
and — borrowed  Jimmy's  pony  that  evening  and  rode 
down  to  the  ford. 

Bender  had  built  a  rough  bridge  to  serve  traffic  till 
the  drive  should  clear  the  ford.  Reining  in  at  the 
nearer  end,  Helen  looked  down  on  the  pool,  the  famous 
pool  wherein  her  betrothal  had  received  baptism  by 
total  immersion — at  least  she  looked  on  the  place  where 
the  pool  had  been,  for  shallows  and  sand-bar  were 
merged  in  one  swirl  of  yellow  water.  But  the  clay  bank 
with  its  bordering  willows  was  still  there,  and  shone  rud- 
dily  under  the  westering  sun  just  as  on  that  memorable 
evening.  Here,  on  the  straight  reach,  the  logs  floated 

203 


THE  SETTLER 

• 

under  care  of  an  occasional  patrol.  A  rough  fellow  in 
blue  jeans  and  red  jerkin  gave  her  a  curious  stare  as  he 
passed,  whereafter  there  was  no  witness  to  her  wet  eyes, 
her  rain  of  tears,  convulsive  sobbing,  the  break-up  of 
her  indifference — that  is,  none  but  her  pony.  Reaching 
curiously  around,  the  beast  investigated  the  grief  hud 
dled  upon  his  neck  with  soft  muzzle,  rubbing  and  sniffing 
"cheer  up,"  and  she  had  just  straightened  to  return  his 
mute  sympathy  when  a  voice  broke  in  on  the  bitter  and 
sweet  of  her  reverie. 

"Well  met,  fair  lady!" 

Turning,  startled,  she  came  face  to  face  with  Moly- 
neux.  The  heavy  mud  of  the  bottoms  had  silenced  his 
wheels,  and  now  he  sat  smiling  at  the  sudden  fires  that 
dried  up  and  hid  her  tears.  "Not  there  yet,"  he  answer 
ed  her  question  as  to  his  return  home.  "Do  you  imagine 
I  could  go  by  without  calling?  The  school  was  closed, 
but  a  kid — a  Flynn,  by  his  upper  lip — told  me  that  you 
had  ridden  this  way;  and  as  it  was  Friday  evening  I 
judged  you  were  going  north  to  Leslie's,  and  so  drove 
like  Jehu  on  the  trail  of  Ahab.  Better  turn  your  horse 
loose  and  get  in  with  me.  He'll  go  home  all  right. 
Why  not?" 

Again  she  shook  her  head.  "Didn't  Mr.  Danvers 
write  you — ?"  Remembering  that  a  letter  would  have 
crossed  him  on  the  Atlantic,  she  stopped. 

"What's  the  matter?  No  one  dead?  Worse?"  He 
laughed  in  her  serious  face  when  she  had  told.  "Oh, 
well,  that's  not  so  bad.  After  all,  Leslie  was  an  awful 
chump.  If  a  man  isn't  strong  enough  to  hold  a  woman's 
love  he  shouldn't  expect  to  keep  her." 

He  was  yet,  of  course,  in  ignorance  of  all  that  had 
transpired  in  his  absence  —  the  house-party  and  the 
complete  revulsion  it  had  wrought  in  Helen's  feelings. 
He  knew  nothing  of  her  shame,  vivid  remorse,  passion  of 

204 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

thankfulness  for  her  escape.  To  him  she  was  still  the 
woman,  desperate  in  her  loneliness,  who  had  challenged 
his  love  two  short  months  ago.  Withal,  what  possessed 
him  to  afford  that  glimpse  of  his  old  nature  ?  It  coupled 
him  instantly  in  her  mind  with  her  late  unpleasant 
experience. 

Not  understanding  her  silence,  he  ran  gayly  on:  "I 
can  now  testify  to  the  truth  of  the  saying,  'Absence 
makes  the  heart  grow  fonder.'  How  is  it  with  you? 
Have  I  lost  or  gained?" 

Laughing  nervously,  she  answered:  "Neither.  We 
are  still  the  same  good  friends." 

He  shook  his  head,  frowning.  "Not  enough.  I  want 
love — must,  will  have  it." 

Any  lingering  misapprehension  of  the  state  of  her 
feelings  which  she  may  have  entertained  now  instantly 
vanished.  How  she  regretted  the  weakness  which  en 
titled  him  to  speak  thus!  She  knew  now.  Never,  under 
any  conditions,  could  she  have  married  him,  but,  warned 
by  dearly  boughten  experience,  she  dared  not  so  inform 
him.  Frightened,  she  fenced  and  parried,  calling  to  her 
aid  those  shifts  for  men's  fooling  that  centuries  of  help 
lessness  have  bred  in  woman's  bone. 

"Well,  well!"  she  laughed.  "I  thought  you  more  gal 
lant.  I  on  horseback,  you  in  a  buggy.  Love  at  such 
long  distance!  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  of  you!" 

It  was  a  bad  lead,  drawing  him  on  instead  of  away. 
"That  is  easily  remedied.  Get  in  with  me — or,  I'll  tie 
up  to  that  poplar." 

She  checked  his  eagerness  with  a  quick  invention. 
"No,  no!  I  was  only  joking.  No,  I  say!  There's  a 
man,  a  river-driver,  just  behind  that  bluff."  How  she 
wished  there  were!  Praying  that  some  one  might  come 
and  so  afford  her  safe  escape,  she  switched  the  conversa 
tion  to  his  journey,  and  when  that  subject  wore  out 

205 


THE  SETTLER 

enthused  over  the  sunset.  How  beautiful  was  the  sky — 
the  shadows  that  fell  like  a  pall  over  the  bottoms — the 
lights  slow  crawling  up  the  headlands! 

Preferring  her  delicate  coloring  to  the  blushes  of  the 
west,  he  feasted  on  her  profile,  delicately  outlined  against 
a  golden  cloud,  until  she  turned.  Then  he  brought  her 
back  to  the  point.  "Well — have  you  forgotten?" 

"What?"  She  knew  too  well,  but  the  question  killed 
a  moment. 

"The  answer  you  promised  me?" 

She  would  dearly  have  loved  to  give  it,  to  cry  aloud  : 
"I  love!  I  love!  I  love — 'him,  not  you!"  Ay,  she 
would  have  flaunted  it  in  all  the  proud  cruelty  of  love — 
had  she  dared.  Instead,  she  answered:  "You  forget! 
I  am  a  married  woman." 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  urged.  "That  is  easily  settled. 
Three  months'  residence  across  the  line,  in  Dakota,  and 
you  are  free  of  him." 

"But  not  of  myself." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Alarmed  by  the  sudden  suffusion  of  venous  blood  on 
his  face  and  neck,  the  reddish  glow  of  his  eye,  she  forged 
hasty  excuses.  "You  see,  I  never  thought  of  it — in  that 
way.  I  must  have  time  to  get  used  to  the  idea.  Won't 
you  give  me  a  week?"  Her  winning  smile  conquered. 
He  had  stepped  his  ponies  alongside,  and,  snatching  her 
hand,  he  covered  it  with  kisses. 

"By  God,  Helen,  you  must  say  yes!  I'm  mad — mad 
with  love  of  you.  If  you  refuse — " 

"Hush!"  She  snatched  away  her  hand  as  a  man 
came  in  sight  from  behind  a  bluff,  coming  up-stream. 
"  It  is  Mr.  Bender ! ' '  she  exclaimed — so  thankfully.  Then, 
mindful  of  her  part,  she  added:  "What  a  nuisance!  I 
wonder  if  he — saw  you?" 

"Oh,  he'll  go  by." 

206 


THE  PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  ESTABLISHED 

"No, no!  Leave  me  the  shreds  of  my  character.  You 
must  go.  Must!  I  said,  sir." 

"Very  well.  But  remember — one  week."  Nodding 
significantly,  he  drove  off,  leaving  her  struggling  with 
mixed  feelings  of  relief  and  apprehension.  She  won 
dered  if  Bender  had  seen  Molyneux  kiss  her  hand. 

Though  in  a  few  minutes  of  shy  conversation  Bender 
showed  no  knowledge  of  the  cause  that  had  set  her  to 
rubbing  the  back  of  her  hand  against  her  skirt,  it  never 
theless  formed  the  subject  of  a  rough  scrawl  that  Baldy, 
the  tote-trail  teamster,  delivered  to  Jenny  in  Lone  Tree 
two  days  later.  "You  said  I  was  to  tell  if  I  saw  or 
heard  anything  more.  Well,  he  is  back,  and — "  Fol 
lowed  the  kisses,  and  the  scrawl  ended,  "If  you  kin 
do  anything  like  you  thought  you  ked,  do  it  quick,  else  I 
shall  have  to  tell  the  boss  and  give  him  a  chance  to  look 
after  his  own." 

Jenny  did  "do  it  quick,"  and  thereby  initiated  a 
sequence  of  cause  and  event  that  was  to  entirely  change 
the  complexion  of  a  dozen  lives.  An  extract  from  her 
letter  to  Helen  explains  itself  :  ' '  'Twas  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue  to  tell  it  to  you  every  time  he  druv  you  home  last 
winter,  but  'twas  so  much  easier  for  me  to  have  you  all 
believing  as  it  was  the  man  that  went  back  to  England. 
But  'twasn't,  Miss  Helen;  'twas  him — Capen  Molyneux." 

Poor  Jenny!  She  alone  knew  the  magnitude  of  the 
man's  offence  against  her  weak  innocence,  but,  small 
stoic,  she  had  hugged  the  knowledge  to  her  soul  while 
waiting  in  dull  patience  for  the  punishment  she  never 
doubted.  Immunity  would  have  challenged  the  exist 
ence  of  the  God  on  whom,  despite  small  heresies  of 
speech,  she  devoutly  leaned.  She  read  his  sentence  in 
that  most  tremendous  curse  of  the  oppressor,  the  One 
Hundredth  and  Ninth  Psalm,  the  bitter  cry  of  David : 
"For  he  hath  rewarded  me  evil  .  .  .  hatred  for  my  love. 

207 


THE  SETTLER 

When  he  shall  be  judged,  let  him  be  condemned;  and 
his  prayer  become  sin.  ...  Let  his  children  be  continually 
vagabonds,  seek  their  bread  in  desolate  places.  Let  the 
extortioner  catch  all  that  he  hath;  the  stranger  despoil 
his  labor.  Let  there  be  none  to  extend  mercy  to  him. 
.  .  .  Let  his  posterity  be  cut  off  and  his  generation  blotted 
out  .  .  .  that  He  may  cut  off  the  memory  of  them  from 
the  earth."  Ay,  she  had  believed  that  it  would  come 
to  pass  in  some  way — by  lightning-flash,  sudden  sickness, 
a  weary  death.  But  she  had  never  imagined  herself  as 
the  instrument  which  this  letter  was  to  make  her.  What 
the  confession  cost  her!  Tears,  shameful  agonizings  ! 
Small  wonder  that,  in  her  trembling  confusion,  she  mis- 
shuffled  notes  and  slid  Helen's  into  Bender's  envelope. 


XIX 

THE     WAGES     OP    SIN 

ON  the  afternoon  following  Baldy's  delivery  of  the 
shuffled  notes,  the  May  sun  diffused  a  tempered 
warmth  upon  Molyneux's  veranda,  thereby  intensifying 
certain  comfortable  reflections  which  accompanied  his 
after-dinner  pipe.  He  had  material  cause  of  satisfac 
tion.  To  begin,  his  father's  death  placed  him  in  posses 
sion  of  a  sum  which — a  mere  pittance  in  England — 
loomed  large  as  a  fortune  in  the  thrifty  settlements. 
Next,  Messrs.  Coxhead  &  Boxhead,  exploiters  of  the 
Younger  Son,  and  his  London  solicitors,  had  forwarded 
through  that  morning's  mail  indentures  of  apprentice 
ship  to  colonial  farming  of  three  more  innocents  at  one 
thousand  dollars  a  head  per  annum.  This  more  than 
made  up  for  the  defection  of  Danvers,  who,  having 
learned  how  little  there  was  to  be  learned  in  the  busi 
ness,  was  adventuring  farming  for  himself.  It  also  per 
mitted  the  retention  of  the  bucolic  Englishman  and  wife, 
who  respectively  managed  Molyneux's  farm  and  house. 

With  their  service  assured,  the  life  was  more  than 
tolerable,  infinitely  superior  to  that  which  he  would  have 
led  at  home.  There  he  would  have  been  condemned  to 
the  celibate  lot  of  the  younger  son — to  be  a  "filler"  at 
dinners  and  dances,  useful  as  the  waiters,  ineligible  and 
innocuous  to  the  plainest  of  his  girl  partners  as  an 
Eastern  eunuch;  or,  accepting  the  alternative,  trade, 
vulgar  trade,  his  pampered  wits  would  have  come  into 

209 


THE  SETTLER 

competition  with  abilities  that  had  been  whetted  to  a 
fine  edge  through  centuries  on  time's  hard  stone.  Like 
a  leaden  plummet,  he  would  have  plunged  through  the 
social  strata  to  his  natural  place  in  the  scheme  of  things. 
Here,  however,  he  was  of  some  importance,  a  magnate 
on  means  that  would  hardly  have  kept  up  his  clothes 
and  clubs  at  home.  A  landed  proprietor,  moreover,  he 
escaped  the  stigma  of  trade,  and  the  resultant  prejudice, 
should  he  ever  return  to  live  in  England. 

Then  the  life  glowed  with  the  colors  of  romance.  His 
farm  occurred  on  the  extreme  western  edge  of  that  vast 
forest  which  blackens  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  so 
marches  west  and  north  over  a  thousand  rugged  miles 
to  the  limit  of  trees  on  the  verge  of  the  Barren  Lands. 
Within  gunshot  the  old  ferocious  struggle  for  life  con 
tinued  as  of  yore.  Through  timbered  glades  the  wolf 
pursued  and  made  his  kill;  echo  answered  the  clash  of 
horns  as  big  elk  fought  for  a  doe;  over  lonely  woodland 
lakes,  black  with  water-fowl,  the  hoo-haugh  crane  spread 
ten  feet  of  snowy  pinion;  across  dark  waters  the  loon's 
weird  lament  replied  to  the  owl's  midnight  questioning. 
In  winter  the  moose  came  down  from  their  yards  to  feed 
at  his  prairie  hay-stacks;  any  night  he  could  come  out 
on  the  veranda  and  thrill  to  a  long  howl  or  the  scream 
of  a  lynx. 

Opening  before  him  now,  the  view  was  pleasantly 
beautiful.  His  house,  a  comfortable  frame  building, 
and  big  barn  and  corrals,  all  sat  within  the  embrace  of 
a  half-moon  that  prairie-fires  had  bitten  out  from  the 
heart  of  a  poplar  bluff.  Southward  his  tilled  fields  ran 
like  strips  of  brown  carpet  over  the  green  earth  rolls. 
Beyond  them  spread  the  Park  Lands,  with  his  cattle 
feeding  knee-deep  in  the  rank  pasture  between  clump 
poplar.  Further  still,  his  horses  scented  the  wind  from 
the  crest  of  a  knoll,  forming  a  dull  blotch  against  th$ 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 

soft  blue  sky.  These  were  growing  into  money  while 
he  smoked,  and  what  of  free  grazing,  free  hay,  and  labor 
that  reversed  the  natural  order  of  things  and  paid  for  the 
privilege  of  working,  he  could  see  himself  comfortably 
wealthy  in  not  too  many  seasons.  He  would  still  be 
young  enough  for  a  run  through  Maiden  Lane,  London's 
Mecca  for  the  stage  and  demi-mondaine.  However,  he 
put  that  thought  behind  him  as  being  inconsistent  with 
contemplation  of  the  last  thing  necessary  for  perfect 
happiness — a  pretty  wife.  Through  the  haze  of  sunlit 
tobacco  reek,  he  saw  himself  in  possession  of  even  that 
golden  asset,  and  thereafter  his  reflections  took  the 
exact  color  of  those  of  the  rich  man  before  death  came 
in  the  night:  "Soul,  soul!  Thou  hast  much  goods  laid 
up  in  store !  Eat,  drink,  take  thine  ease,  and  be 
merry!" 

"It  is  really  time  that  I  settled,"  he  murmured. 
"Thirty-four,  my  next  birthday.  By  Jove  !  six  more 
years  and  I  shall  be  forty!" 

The  thought  deflected  his  meditation  into  channels 
highly  becoming  to  a  person  of  the  age  he  was  contem 
plating,  and  from  virtuous  altitudes  he  looked  back  with 
something  of  the  reproving  tolerance  that  kindly  age 
accords  to  youthful  indiscretion.  He  maintained  the 
"you -were -a- sad- dog"  point  of  view  till  a  sudden 
thought  stung  his  virtuous  complacency  through  to  the 
quick.  "Oh,  well" — he  ousted  reproach  with  exculpa 
tory  murmur  —  "if  the  girl  had  only  let  me,  I  would 
have  got  her  away  from  here  and  have  done  something 
handsome  for  her  afterwards.  But  it  was  just  as  well — 
seeing  that  it  passed  off  so  quietly.  I  wonder  how  she 
managed  it?  Nobody  seems  to  know."  Then,  ignoring 
the  fact  that  every  seeding  brings  its  harvest,  not  know 
ing  that  the  measure  of  that  cruel  sowing  was  even  then 
coming  home  to  him  on  a  fast  trot,  he  smothered  convic- 

211 


THE  SETTLER 

tion  under  the  trite  reflection,  "A  fellow  must  sow  his 
wild  oats." 

Still  the  thought  had  marred  his  reverie,  and,  tapping 
his  pipe  on  the  chair-rung,  he  rose.  He  intended  a  visit 
to  the  barn,  where  his  man  was  dipping  seed  wheat  in 
bluestone  solution  to  kill  the  smut;  but  just  then  a 
wagon,  which  had  been  rattling  along  the  Lone  Tree 
trail,  turned  into  his  private  lane. 

"It  is  Glaves,"  he  muttered.  "And  his  wife.  What 
can  they  want  ?  Must  have  a  message — from  her ;  other 
wise  they  would  never  come  here." 

His  thought  did  not  malign  the  trustee,  who  had  posi 
tively  refused  the  commission  till  assured  that  its  per 
formance  would  sever  Helen's  relations  with  his  natural 
foes.  Yet  he  did  not  like  it,  and  though  retribution 
might  have  presented  herself  in  more  tragic  guise,  she 
could  not  have  assumed  a  more  forbidding  face  than 
that  which  he  now  turned  down  to  Molyneux. 

Than  they  two  there  have  been  no  more  violent  con 
trast.  Beak-nosed,  hollow-eyed,  the  hoar  of  fifty  win 
ters  environed  the  trustee's  face,  which  wind  and 
weather  had  warped,  seamed,  and  wrinkled  into  the 
semblance  of  a  scorched  hide.  He  was  true  to  the 
frontier  type;  and  beside  his  bronzed  ruggedness,  the 
Englishman,  though  much  the  larger  man,  seemed,  with 
his  soft  hands,  smooth  skin,  and  polished  manner,  to  be 
small  and  effeminate. 

As  might  be  expected,  the  trustee  refused  Molyneux 's 
invitation  to  put  in  and  feed.  "No;  me  an*  the  wife  is 
going  up  to  see  her  brother,  north  of  Assissippii,  an'  we 
have  thirty  miles  to  make  afore  sundown." 

He  did,  however,  return  curt  answers  to  a  few  ques 
tions,  though  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  set  his  scant  con 
versational  efforts  to  the  account  of  politeness.  Rather 
they  were  the  meed  of  malignance,  for,  while  talking,  he 

212 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 

secretly  exulted  over  the  thought  of  Molyneux's  coming 
disappointment.  They  would  be  gone  a  week,  he  said. 
The  mails  ?  Mrs.  Carter  would  attend  to  sech  letters  as 
straggled  in.  She'd  be  there  alone  ?  Yes.  Lonesome  ? 
Mebbe,  but  she  was  that  well-plucked  she'd  laughed  at 
the  idea  of  spending  her  nights  at  Flynn's.  A  fine  girl, 
sirree!  Having  accorded  five  minutes  to  Helen's  perfec 
tions,  the  trustee  drove  off,  but  turned,  as  he  rattled  out 
of  the  yard,  and  nudged  his  wife,  grinning,  to  look  at 
Molyneux. 

Stark  and  still  as  one  of  his  own  veranda-posts,  the 
man  stood  and  stared  down  at  Jenny's  pitiful  letter. 
Across  the  top  Helen  had  written,  "This  explains  itself," 
and  that  scrap  of  writing  represented  three  letters  now 
torn  up  and  consigned  to  the  flames.  The  first  ante 
dated  her  receipt  of  Jenny's  letter,  and  had  run:  "I 
want  you  to  believe  me  innocent  of  coquetry,  and  you 
must  pardon  me  if  I  have,  by  speech  or  action,  seemed 
to  sanction  the  hope  you  expressed  the  other  day.  I 
now  perceive  that  it  was  my  desperate  loneliness  that 
caused  me  to  lean  so  heavily  upon  your  friendship.  I 
might  have  told  you  this  personally  but  for  certain 
experiences  which  have  made  me  timid."  There  was 
more — regret,  pleasant  hope  that  the  future  might  bring 
with  it  friendly  relations,  wishes  for  his  happiness.  This 
letter  she  had  withdrawn  from  the  mail  to  burn,  along 
with  one  that  was  full  of  reproach,  and  a  third  that 
sizzled  with  indignation. 

Suffused  with  dark,  venous  blood,  Molyneux  faced  dis 
covered  sin.  If  ever,  this  was  the  accepted  time  for  his 
attempts  at  reconstruction  to  bring  forth  fruit.  He  had 
pictured  himself  remorseful,  but  now  that  the  wage  of 
sin  was  demanded,  he  flinched  like  a  selfish  child,  re 
neged  in  the  game  he  had  played  with  the  gods.  It 
was  not  in  him  to  play  a  losing  hand  to  the  logical  end. 
is  213 


THE  SETTLER 

Instead  of  remorse,  anger  possessed  him,  for,  tearing  the 
letter,  he  cried  in  a  gust  of  passion: 

"She  sha'n't  throw  me  a  second  time!  By  God,  she 
sha'n't!" 

Needs  not  to  follow  his  turbulent  thought  as  he  hur 
ried  out  to  the  barn — his  flushes,  the  paroxysms  that 
set  his  face  in  the  colors  of  apoplexy.  Sufficient  that 
flooding  passion  swept  clean  the  superstructure  of  false 
morality,  sophistical  idealism,  that  he  had  erected  on 
the  rotten  foundation  of  his  vicious  heredity.  A  minute 
of  action  explains  a  volume  of  psychology.  Hitching  his 
ponies,  he  drove  madly  southward,  one  idea  standing 
clearly  out  in  his  whirl  of  thought — she  would  be  alone 
that  night. 

Just  about  the  time  that  Molyneux  swung  out  on  the 
Lone  Tree  trail,  Helen  arrived  home  from  school  with 
the  eldest  Flynn  boy,  who  had  volunteered  to  help  her 
with  the  chores,  her  undertaking  of  which  had  made 
possible  Mrs.  Glaves's  rare  holiday.  Under  distress  of 
their  bursting  udders,  the  cows  had  come  in  of  their  own 
accord  from  the  fat,  rank  pastures,  and  now  called  for 
easement,  with  low,  persistent  "mooing,"  while  she 
changed  her  dress.  When  she  finally  came  out,  with 
sleeves  rolled  above  elbows  that  had  regained  their 
plump  whiteness,  they  even  fought  for  precedence, 
horning  each  other  aside  until  the  bell-cow  made  good 
her  prerogative  as  leader;  then  frothing  streams  soon 
drew  tinkling  music  from  her  pail.  For  his  part,  the 
boy  fed  pigs  and  calves,  carried  in  the  milk,  then  de 
parted,  leaving  her  to  skim  and  strain,  and  wash  pans 
and  pails,  itself  no  light  task  in  view  of  Mrs.  Glaves's 
difficult  standards  of  cleanliness.  That  done  and  her 
supper  eaten,  she  placed  a  lamp  on  the  table  and  sat 
down  to  think  over  the  events  of  the  day. 

214 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 

A  little  fatigued,  she  leaned  a  smooth  cheek  on  her 
hand,  staring  at  the  lamp,  whose  golden  light  toned 
while  it  revealed  the  changes  these  distressful  months 
had  wrought  in  her  appearance.  Her  eyes  were  weary, 
her  face  tired;  but  if  she  was  paler  than  of  yore,  the 
pallor  was  becoming,  in  that  it  was  altogether  a  mental 
product  and  accorded  well  with  her  plump,  well-nourish 
ed  body.  Her  mouth,  if  wofully  pouted  in  agreement 
with  her  sad  thought,  was  scarlet  and  pretty  as  ever. 
In  every  way  she  was  good  as  new. 

At  first  she  had  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  realize 
the  full  meaning  of  the  letter  which  the  Cougar  had 
brought  in  from  the  camp  early  that  morning.  For 
Bender  would  trust  it  in  no  other  hand;  whereby  he 
discovered  not  only  his  wisdom,  but  also  an  unexpected 
fund  of  tact  in  his  rough  messenger.  Anticipating  some 
display  of  emotion,  the  Cougar  discharged  his  office  in 
the  privacy  of  Helen's  own  room;  and  if  her  red  eyes 
afterwards  excited  Jimmy  Glaves's  insatiable  curiosity, 
only  the  Cougar  witnessed  her  breakdown — sorrowful 
tremblings,  blushes,  tearful  anger.  Not  that  she  had 
doubted  the  girl's  word.  Only  it  had  seemed  monstrous, 
incredible,  impossible,  until,  through  the  day,  jots  and 
tittles  of  evidence  had  filtered  out  of  the  past.  She  had 
connected  Jenny's  gloomings  on  the  occasions  that  Moly- 
neux  drove  her  (Helen)  home  with  his  refusals  to  enter 
and  warm  himself  after  their  cold  drives.  Even  from 
the  far  days  of  the  child's  trouble,  small  significances  had 
come  to  piece  out  the  solid  proof.  So  now  nothing  was 
left  for  her  but  bitter  self-communion. 

These  days  it  did  seem  as  though  the  fates  were  bent 
on  squeezing  the  last  acrid  drop  into  her  cup ;  for  to  the 
consciousness  of  error  was  now  added  knowledge  of  the 
utter  worthlessness  of  her  tempter.  She  burned  as  she 
recalled  their  solitary  rides;  writhed  slim  fingers  in  a 

215 


THE  SETTLER 

passion  of  thankfulness  as  she  thought  of  her  several 
escapes;  was  taxing  herself  for  her  folly  when  a  sudden 
furious  baying  outside  brought  her,  startled,  to  her  feet. 

It  was  merely  the  house  -  dog  exchanging  defiances 
with  a  lone  coyote;  but — after  she  had  satisfied  herself 
of  the  fact — it  yet  brought  home  upon  her  a  vivid  sense 
of  her  lonely  position.  Sorry  now  that  she  had  not  gone 
home  with  the  Flynn  boy,  she  glanced  nervously  about 
the  room,  which,  if  small,  was  yet  large  enough  to  own 
shadowy  corners.  On  top  of  the  pigeon-holed  mailing- 
desk,  moreover,  a  few  books  were  piled  in  such  a  way 
as  to  cast  a  shadow,  the  silhouette  of  a  man's  profile, 
upon  the  wall.  Lean,  hard,  indescribably  cruel,  its  thin 
lips  split  in  a  merciless  grin  as  she  moved  the  lamp,  then 
suddenly  lengthened  into  the  semblance  of  a  hand 
and  pointing  finger.  Then  she  laughed,  nervously,  yet 
laughed  because  it  indicated  one  of  the  hundred  sum 
monses,  writs  of  execution,  and  findings  in  judgment 
that  were  pasted  up  on  the  walls. 

"By  these  summons,"  Victoria  Regina  called  upon 
her  subject,  James  Glaves,  to  pay  the  moneys  and  taxed 
costs  herein  set  forth  under  pain  of  confiscation  of  his 
goods  and  chattels.  Usually  recording  debt  and  disas 
ter,  the  instruments  certified,  in  Jimmy's  case,  to  numer 
ous  victories  over  implement  trusts,  cordage  monopolies, 
local  or  foreign  Shylocks.  "Execution  proof,"  in  that 
his  wife  owned  their  real  property  in  her  own  right,  he 
could  sit  and  smoke  at  home,  the  cynosure  of  the  coun 
try-side,  in  seasons  when  the  sheriff  travelled  with  the 
thresher  and  took  in  all  the  grain.  To  each  document 
he  could  append  a  story,  the  memory  of  such  a  one 
having  caused  Helen's  laugh. 

Indicating  this  particular  specimen  with  his  pipe-stem 
one  evening,  he  had  remarked:  "Yon  jest  tickled  the 
jedge  to  death.  'Mr.  Glaves,'  he  says,  when  he  handed 

216 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIN 

it  down,  'they've  beat  you  on  the  jedgment,  now  it's  up 
to  you  to  fool  'em  on  the  execution.'  An'  you  bet  I 
did." 

Reassured,  Helen  returned  to  her  musings,  only  to 
start  up,  a  minute  later,  with  a  nervous  glance  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  window.  Is  there  anything  in  thought 
transference  ?  At  that  moment  Molyneux  was  rattling 
down  into  the  dark  valley,  and  is  it  possible  that  his 
heated  imaginings  bridged  the  miles  and  impressed  them 
selves  upon  her  nervous  mental  surfaces?  Or  was  it 
merely  a  coincidence  of  thought  that  caused  her  to  see 
his  face  pressed  against  the  black  pane.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  she  could  not  regain  her  composure.  Taking  the 
lamp,  she  locked  herself  in  her  bedroom;  then  she  sought 
that  last  refuge  of  frightened  femininity,  the  invulner 
able  shield  of  the  bedclothes. 


XX 

IS     DEATH 

THOUGH  Silver  Creek  still  ran  fat  and  full,  its 
sources  were  now  nearly  drained  of  flood -waters; 
any  day  might  see  it  suddenly  shrink  to  its  usual  sum 
mer  trickle.  Anticipating  the  event,  Bender  went  miles 
down-stream  that  morning  to  superintend  the  building 
of  the  first  dam,  and  so  did  not  see  the  Cougar  till  that 
worthy  came  into  camp  at  night  from  his  own  place  at 
the  tail  of  the  drive. 

This,  the  hour  for  changing  shifts,  was  the  liveliest  of 
camp  life — the  social  hour,  one  might  term  it,  replete 
with  a  certain  rough  comfort.  With  them,  from  up 
and  down  river,  the  reliefs  poured  in,  a  stream  of  red 
shirts,  drowning  with  oaths,  song,  and  laughter  the 
rattle  of  tin- ware  in  the  cook-tent.  Spread  over  fifteen 
miles  of  river,  the  arrival  was  equally  irregular,  and 
those  who  had  already  eaten  were  grouped  about  a 
huge  camp-fire,  the  red  glow  of  which  enriched  weath 
ered  skins  and  softened  the  corrugations  of  iron  faces. 
After  the  cold  and  wet  of  the  day,  its  warmth  spelled 
luxury  in  capitals — luxury  such  as  no  millionaire  may 
command  from  his  palatial  clubs,  for  pleasure  may  only 
be  measured  in  degrees  of  health  with  accompanying 
intensity  of  sensation.  As  they  moved  and  turned  like 
huge  red  capons  on  an  old-style  spit,  bringing  fresh 
areas  of  soaked  clothing  under  the  blaze,  they  smoked 
and  revamped  the  day's  haps,  its  dips,  jams,  duckings, 

218 


—IS  DEATH 

while  the  river — the  river  that  yielded  their  hard  bread 
in  exchange  for  annual  toll  of  a  life  or  two — rebuked 
with  angry  growl  their  jokes  and  jestings. 

A  candle  in  Bender's  tent  showed  the  giant  squatted 
upon  his  blankets,  chin  on  hands,  big  torso  hunched 
between  knees  and  elbows.  A  night  and  day  of  heavy 
brooding  had  sunk  his  eyes;  despair  had  cross-ploughed 
and  deepened  the  furrows  across  his  blue,  scarred  face. 
The  attitude  bespoke  deepest  dejection,  and  his  look, 
when  the  Cougar  entered,  caused  the  latter 's  weird 
fierceness  to  flux  in  vast  sympathy. 

"Well?"  Bender  inquired. 

The  Cougar  pulled  a  paper  out  of  his  shirt -bosom. 
"Here's  your  letter  that  she  got  by  mistake." 

It  was  only  a  scrap  to  say  that  she  would  do  her  best — 
she  had  done  it,  too,  poor  girl! — that  and  an  admonition 
to  be  careful  in  drying  his  clothes  at  nights.  Usually 
the  warning  would  have  dissolved  Bender's  grimness, 
but  it  caused  no  relaxation  of  his  gravity. 

"How  did  she  take  it?" 

"Hard.  Cried  an'  said  as  'twas  more'n  she  deserved 
at  the  little  gal's  hands.  Blamed  herself — dreadful  cut 
up.  Seems,  too,  as  'twasn't  necessary,  as  she'd  already 
mailed  Mr.  Man  his  walking-papers." 

"Too  late— now.     It's  done." 

The  Cougar  looked  awkwardly  down  upon  him.  Pity 
had  been  foreign  to  their  rough  comradeship;  it  was, 
indeed,  nearest  of  kin  to  shame;  the  words  of  sympathy 
choked  in  his  throat.  "Come,  come!"  he  presently 
growled.  "Chipper  up!  'Tain't  any  worse  than  it 
was." 

A  convulsion  seized  and  shook  the  big  body.  "You 
don't  know,  Cougar.  You  don't  know  what  it  is — " 
He  stopped,  aghast  at  the  sudden  appalling  change  in 
the  other.  He  had  straightened  from  his  crouch,  and 

219 


THE  SETTLER 

his  eyes  flared  like  blue,  alcohol  flames  in  his  livid  face. 
As  at  the  touch  of  a  secret  spring,  the  man's  fierce  taci 
turnity  raised,  exposing  the  tortured  soul  behind. 

"I  —  don't?"  The  whisper  issued  like  a  dry  wind 
from  drawn  lips.  "Me ? — that  saw  my  wife  an'  baby — " 
Though  frontiersmen  tell,  shivering,  of  the  horror  he 
mentioned,  no  pen  has  been  found  callous  enough  to  set 
it  forth  on  paper.  "God,  man!"  His  arms  snapped 
outward  and  his  head  fell  forward  in  the  attitude  of 
the  crucifixion. 

"Cougar!"  Bender  grasped  his  shoulder.  "Cougar! 
Cougar,  man!  I'd  forgotten." 

But  as  one  in  a  trance  the  man  went  on:  "It's  always 
with  me — through  these  years — day  an'  night.  I'd  have 
killed  myself — long  ago — on'y  whenever  I'd  think  of 
that,  she'd  come — sweet  an'  smiling — with  a  shake  of 
her  pretty  head.  She  wouldn't  let  me  do  it."  The 
thought  of  her  smile  seemed  to  calm  him,  and  he  con 
tinued,  more  quietly:  "I  never  could  make  out  why 
'twas  done  to  her.  A  sky-pilot  tol'  me  onct  as  'twas 
the  will  o'  God,  but  I  shocked  him  clean  out  of  his 
boots. 

"Til  know  on  the  Jedgment  Day,  will  I?'  I  asks 
him.  'Shorely,'  he  answers,  pat.  'An'  I'll  be  close  in 
to  the  great  white  throne  you  was  talking  about  ?'  He 
nods.  'Then  do  you  know  what  I'll  do?'  I  asks  him 
again.  '  If  I  find  out  as  how  that  God  o'  yourn  ordered 
that  done  to  my  little  gal,  I'll  stick  a  knife  into  Him  an' 
turn  it  round.' 

"At  that  he  turned  green  an'  tried  to  saddle  the  dirty 
business  onto  the  devil.  But,  Lordy,  he  didn't  know. 
She  does,  though,  else  she  wouldn't  come  smiling.  She 
knows;  so  I've  allus  reckoned  as  if  she  could  bear  her 
pain  I  can  worry  through  to  the  end.  There!  there! 
I'm  all  right  again.  You  didn't  go  to  do  it.  An,'  after 

220 


-IS  DEATH 

all,  I  don't  know  but  that  you  are  right.  For  while  my 
gal's  at  peace,  yourn  has  to  live  out  her  pain.  It's  puz 
zling — all  of  it.  Now  there's  him.  Where  does  he  come 
in?  What  about  him ?" 

"What  about  him  ?"  Bender's  bulk  seemed  to  swell  in 
the  dim  light  to  huge,  amorphous  proportions.  "That's 
simple.  He's  got  to  marry  her." 

What  the  conclusion  had  cost  him! — the  suffering,  self- 
sacrifice.  To  the  sophisticated,  both  sacrifice  and  con 
clusion  may  seem  absurd,  provoking  the  question  as  to 
just  how  wrong  may  be  righted  by  the  marriage  of  a 
clean  girl  with  an  impure  man;  yet  it  was  strictly  in 
accord  with  backwoods  philosophy.  As  yet  the  scepti 
cism  of  modernity  had  not  infected  the  plains,  nor  had 
the  leprosy  of  free  thought  rotted  their  creeds  and  in 
stitutions.  To  Bender's  simplicity,  marriage  appealed 
as  the  one  cure  for  such  ills  as  Jenny's,  while  both  he 
and  the  Cougar  had  seen  the  dose  administered  with  aid 
of  a  Colt's  forty-five.  So,  absurd  or  not,  the  conclusion 
earned  the  latter's  instant  approval. 

There  was  something  pathetic,  too,  in  the  serious 
way  in  which,  after  discussing  ways  and  means,  they 
spoke  of  Jenny's  future.  "She'll  be  a  lady,"  the  Cougar 
commented.  "Too  big  to  look  at  you  an'  me." 

Bender's  nod  incarnated  self-effacement,  but  he  bris 
tled  when  the  Cougar  suggested  that  Molyneux  might 
not  treat  her  rightly,  and  his  scowl  augured  a  quick 
widowhood  in  such  premises.  "We'll  go  up  for  him 
to-morrow." 

"An'  after  it 'sail  over?" 

"Oregon  for  you  an'  me  —  the  camps  an*  the  big 
timber." 

The  big  timber!  The  Cougar's  bleak  face  lit  up  with 
sudden  warmth.  Giant  pines  of  Oregon  woods;  rose- 
brown  shade  of  cathedral  redwoods;  the  roaring  unrest 

221 


THE  SETTLER 

of  lacy  cataracts;  peace  of  great  rivers  that  float  the 
rafts  and  drives  from  snow-capped  Rockies  down  to 
the  blue  Pacific;  these,  and  the  screaming  saw-mills 
that  spew  their  product  over  the  meridians,  the  pomp 
of  that  great  piracy;  the  sights,  sounds,  resinous  odors 
that  the  Cougar  would  never  experience  again  were 
vividly  projected  into  his  consciousness. 

"Man!"  He  drew  a  deep  breath.  "It  can't  come 
too  quick  for  me.  I'm  sick  of  these  plains,  where  a  man 
throws  a  shadow  clean  to  the  horizon.  I'm  hungry  for 
the  loom  of  the  mountains."  After  a  pause,  he  added, 
"Coming  back  to  yourself — have  you  eaten  to-day?" 

The  language  he  accorded  to  Bender's  negative  would 
shake  the  type  from  a  respectable  printer's  fingers,  yet, 
in  essence,  was  exactly  equivalent  to  the  "You  poor 
dear!"  of  an  anxious  wife  or  mother.  Striding  off,  he 
quickly  returned  with  coffee  and  food,  which  Bender 
was  ordered  to  eat  under  pain  of  instant  loss  of  his  liver, 
lights,  and  sundry  other  useful  organs.  Then,  being  be 
sotted  in  his  belief  in  action  as  a  remedy  for  mental 
disorders,  he  suggested  a  visit  to  the  turn  above  the 
bridge  where  the  logs  had  jammed  twice  that  afternoon. 

Another  day  would  put  the  last  log  under  the  bridge 
and  see  the  temporary  structure  dismantled  and  afloat; 
but  though  only  the  tail  of  the  drive  remained  above, 
the  jams  had  backed  it  up  for  a  couple  of  miles,  so  that 
the  logs  now  filled  the  river  from  bank  to  bank.  They 
floated  silently,  or  nearly  so,  for  the  soft  thud  of  colli 
sions,  mutter  of  grinding  bark,  merged  with  the  low  roar 
of  the  stream.  But  a  brilliant  northern  moon  lit  the 
serried  array ;  when  the  men  crossed  they  could  pick  the 
yellow  sawed  ends  from  the  black  of  the  mass. 

Under  urge  of  the  same  thought,  they  paused  on  the 
other  side  and  looked  back  along  the  northern  trail. 
With  the  exception  of  the  cook,  whose  pots  proclaimed  his 

222 


—IS  DEATH 

labors  with  shrill  tintinnabulation,  the  camp  now  slept, 
its  big  watch-fire  burning  red  and  low.  Beneath  that 
bright  moon  scrub,  bluff,  scour,  ravine,  and  headland 
stood  out,  lacking  only  the  colors  of  day,  and  they  could 
see  the  trail's  twin  ruts  writhing  like  black  snakes  across 
the  ashen  bottoms  into  the  gorge  by  which  it  gained  the 
prairies. 

The  Cougar's  quick  eye  first  discerned  a  moving  blot, 
but  Bender  gave  it  identity.  "That's  shore  Molyneux's 
rig.  He'd  a  loose  spoke  when  he  went  by  t'other  day. 
Hear  it  rattle." 

It  was  clear  and  sharp  as  the  clatter  of  a  boy's  stick 
along  a  wooden  paling,  and  the  Cougar  whispered:  "It's 
sure  him.  Where  kin  he  be  going  ?  Do  you  reckon — " 

The  same  thought  was  in  Bender's  mind.  "An*  she 
there  alone.  No  one  ever  starts  out  for  Lone  Tree  this 
time  o'  night."  After  a  grim  pause,  he  added,  "But 
that's  where  he's  going." 

A  strident  chuckle  told  that  the  Cougar  had  caught 
his  meaning.  "That's  right.  Saved  us  trouble,  hain't 
he?  Kind  of  him.  Jes'  step  into  the  shadow  till  he's 
fairly  on  the  bridge." 

If  they  had  remained  in  the  moonlight  he  would  never 
have  seen  them.  Dusk  had  brought  no  surcease  of  his 
mad  thought ;  rather  its  peace  stimulated  his  excitement 
by  shutting  him  out  from  the  visible  world.  What  were 
his  thoughts  ?  It  takes  a  strong  man  to  face  his  contem 
plated  villanies.  From  immemorial  time  your  scoun 
drel  has  been  able  to  justify  his  acts  by  some  sort  of 
crooked  reasoning,  and  Molyneux  was  no  exception  to 
the  rule.  "Why  do  you  muddy  the  water  when  I  am 
drinking?"  the  wolf  asked  of  the  lamb.  "How  could  I, 
sir,  seeing  that  the  stream  flows  from  you  to  me?"  the 
lamb  filed  in  exception.  "None  of  your  insolence!"  the 
wolf  roared  as  he  made  his  kill. 

223 


THE  SETTLER 

In  the  same  way  Molyneux  excluded  from  thought 
everything  that  conflicted  with  his  intention — the  first 
rudeness  that  lost  him  Helen's  maiden  confidence,  his 
insidious  attempts  to  wean  her  from  her  husband,  her 
undoubted  right  to  reject  his  advances.  He  twisted  his 
own  crime  to  her  demerit.  "She  didn't  know  about 
that  when  she  was  drawing  me  on!"  he  exclaimed,  when 
ever  Jenny's  letter  thrust  into  his  meditation.  "Why 
should  it  cut  any  ice  now?  It  is  just  an  excuse  to 
throw  me  a  second  time.  But  she  sha'n't  do  it,  by  God! 
no,  she  sha'n't,  she  sha'n't !  She's  a  coquette ! — a  damned 
coquette!  I'll — "  Then  a  red  rage,  a  heaving,  tumultu 
ous  passion,  would  drown  articulate  thought  so  that  his 
intention  never  took  form  in  words.  But  one  thing  is 
certain — he  was  thoroughly  dangerous.  In  that  mood 
Helen  would  have  fared  as  illy  at  his  hands  as  the  lamb 
at  the  paws  of  the  wolf. 

The  sudden  stoppage  of  his  ponies,  midway  of  the 
bridge,  broke  up  his  reverie.  As  the  moon  struck  full 
in  his  own  face,  he  saw  the  two  men  only  as  shadows; 
but  there  was  no  mistaking  Bender's  bulk,  and,  after  a 
single  startled  glance,  Molyneux  hailed  him.  "Is  that 
you,  Mr.  Bender?" 

"It's  me,  all  right.  Where  might  you  be  heading  for  ?" 
It  was  the  usual  trail  greeting,  preliminary  to  conver 
sation,  but  Molyneux  sensed  a  difference  of  tone,  savor 
of  command,  menace  of  authority,  that  galled  his 
haughty  spirit.  Vexed  by  the  impossibility  of  explana 
tion,  his  disdain  of  the  settler  tribe  in  general  would  not 
permit  him  to  lie ;  from  which  conflict  of  feeling  his  stiff 
answer  was  born. 

"I  don't  see  that  it  is  any  of  your  business." 
"You  don't?"     Equally  stiff,  the  reply  issued  from 
the  huge,  dim  shape.     "Well,  I'll  make  it  mine.     You're 
going  to  Lone  Tree." 

224 


—IS  DEATH 

Puzzled,  Molyneux  glanced  from  Bender's  indefinite- 
ness  to  the  Cougar's  dim  crouch.  He  was  not  afraid. 
In  him  the  courage  of  his  vices  was  reinforced  by 
enormous  racial  and  family  pride — the  combination  that 
made  the  British  fool  the  finest  of  officers  until  mathe 
matics  and  quick-firing  artillery  replaced  the  sword  and 
mele*e.  Mistaking  the  situation,  he  attempted  to  carry 
it  off  with  a  laugh. 

"What  have  you  chaps  been  drinking?  Here;  pass 
the  bottle." 

"Not  till  we  wet  your  wedding,"  the  Cougar  inter 
jected,  dryly. 

Astonished  now,  as  well  as  puzzled,  Molyneux  yet 
rejected  a  sudden  suspicion  as  impossible.  Out  of 
patience,  galled  by  this  mysterious  opposition,  he  said, 
testily:  "Are  you  crazy?  I  do  not  intend — " 

"—To  go  to  Lone  Tree,"  Bender  interrupted.  "Yes, 
we  know.  You  was  heading  up  for  Glaves's  place." 

Seriously  disconcerted,  Molyneux  hid  it  under  an 
ironical  laugh.  "I  must  say  that  I  marvel  at  your 
intimate  knowledge  of  my  affairs.  And  since  you  are 
so  well  posted,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  why  I  am  going 
to  Lone  Tree?" 

"I  kin  that."  The  huge,  dim  figure,  with  its  crouched, 
attendant  shadow,  moved  a  pace  nearer,  then  the  man's 
stern  bass  launched  on  the  quivering  moonlight,  reciting 
to  an  accompaniment  of  rushing  waters  this  oldest  of 
woodland  sagas.  Beginning  at  the  night  he  picked 
Jenny  up  on  the  trail,  he  told  all — Jed  Hines's  cruel  fury; 
birth  and  burial  of  his,  Molyneux's  child;  the  outcast 
girl's  subsequent  illness;  Helen's  kindness;  the  doctor's 
philanthropy;  the  kindly  conspiracy  that  protected  her 
from  social  infamy.  "An'  us  that  saw  her  through  her 
trouble,"  he  finished,  "are  bound  to  see  her  righted." 

If  the  lime-lights  of  history  and  fiction  were  thrown 

225 


THE  SETTLER 

more  often  upon  motives  and  psychology,  and  less  on 
deeds  and  action,  characters  would  not  appear  in  such 
hard  colors  of  black  and  white.  It  were  false  to  paint 
Molyneux  irredeemably  black.  "  Your  child!"  He 
winced  at  the  phrase,  and,  perhaps  for  the  first  time, 
a"n  inkling  of  the  enormity  of  his  offence  was  borne  in 
upon  him.  His  child?  It  was  the  flesh  of  his  own 
loins  that  had  suffered  midnight  burial  at  the  hands  of 
Carter  and  the  kindly  priest!  The  thought  struck  with 
enormous  force — then  faded.  For  back  of  him  was  that 
vicious  generation  whose  most  cultured  exponent  wrote 
to  his  own  son  that  a  seduction  or  two  was  necessary 
to  the  education  of  a  gentleman.  Through  pride  of 
family,  the  dead  hands  of  haughty  and  licentious  fore 
bears  reached  to  throttle  remorse. 

Was  he  to  be  called  to  account  by  common  settlers, 
the  savages  of  the  scornful  English  phrase  ?  Anger  col 
ored  his  next  remark:  "Waited  till  you  were  good  and 
ready,  didn't  you?  Your  diligence  falls  short  of  your 
zeal,  my  friends,  or — " 

"Don't  flatter  yourself,"  Bender  sternly  interrupted. 
"You  kin  thank  her  for  the  delay.  If  we'd  known, 
you'd  long  ago  have  been  either  dead  or  married.  But 
she  kep*  her  own  counsel  till  she  thought  as  some  one 
else's  welfare  called  her  to  speak.  'Twasn't  needed. 
T'other'd  already  found  you  out  for  herself." 

Molyneux  blinked  under  the  savage  contempt,  but 
answered,  stiffly  enough:  "Now  listen.  I  deny  nothing, 
though  she  received  attentions  from  one  of  my  pupils, 
and  it  might  very  well  have  been — " 

"You  lie!" 

The  lie  never  comes  so  unpleasantly  as  when  asserting 
a  truth;  so,  though  he  knew  that  he  had  lied,  Molyneux's 
eyes  glinted  wickedly,  his  hand  tightened  on  his  whip. 
A  glance  right  and  left  showed  him  the  river,  only  a 

226 


—IS  DEATH 

light  hand-rail  between  him  and  dark  waters.  There 
was  not  room  to  turn;  the  giant  blocked  the  way. 
Under  constraint,  he  spoke  quietly:  "Neither  do  I  pro 
fess  sorrow.  What  is  done  is  done.  If  the  girl  had 
taken  me  into  her  confidence — " 

"Likely,  wasn't  it?" 

A  line  of  Jenny's  letter,  a  damnable  fact,  flashed  into 
Molyneux's  mind,  but  he  went  on:  " — I'd  have  taken 
care  of  her — am  willing  to  do  so  yet,  in  a  certain  way. 
Marriage,  of  course,  is  out  of  the  question.  We  are 
unfitted  for  each  other — " 

"No  one's  denying  that." 

He  ignored  the  sarcasm.  " — could  not  be  happy  to 
gether." 

"Who  said  anything  about  your  living  together?" 

The  interruptions  were  most  disconcerting,  but  he 
continued:  "Now  if  you,  as  her  representatives,  self- 
appointed  or  otherwise  " — he  could  not  refrain  from  the 
sarcasm — -"if  you  will  name  a  sum — " 

"What?" 

Twenty  rods  away  the  camp  now  slept,  steeped  in  the 
drug  of  labor — all  but  the  cook,  who  came  running  out 
of  his  tent  and  was  thus  witness  of  the  event.  Looking 
up-stream,  he  saw  them  blackly  silhouetted  against  the 
moonlit  sky,  a  shadow  show,  play  of  marionettes  upon 
the  bridge. 

' '  Out  of  my  way !     Let  go !" 

Followed  the  swish  and  crack  of  Molyneux's  whip,  as 
he  lashed  Bender  over  the  face,  then  fell  to  flogging  his 
horses.  But  stinging  pain  freed  in  the  giant  those  bull 
dog  passions  that  had  made  him  king  of  the  camps  in 
other  years.  He  hung  on,  while  the  plunging  beasts 
drowned  the  river's  roar  in  thunder  of  iron  hoofs. 
Unable  to  break  his  grip,  they  reared — their  smooth, 
elongated  bodies  conveying  to  the  cook  an  odd  impres- 

227 


THE  SETTLER 

sion  of  slugs  reaching  upward  through  moonlit  dew — • 
then,  stooping  quickly  under  the  nigh  beast,  the  mad 
giant  took  its  full  weight  on  his  shoulder  and  with  a 
mighty  heave  sent  team  and  rig  crashing  sideways  off 
the  bridge. 

A  quick  leap  saved  Molyneux — for  the  moment.  All 
through  the  action  had  moved  with  kinetoscopic  quick 
ness,  and  it  accelerated  so  that  the  cook  could  scarcely 
establish  its  sequence.  Like  an  angry  bull,  Bender  shook 
the  hair  from  his  eyes;  then,  as  he  rushed,  came  a  re 
port;  a  puff  of  smoke  curled  bluely  up  from  Molyneux's 
hand;  the  giant  thudded  at  length  on  the  bridge.  Fol 
lowed  a  yell,  a  piercing  cry  suitable  to  the  animal  after 
which  the  Cougar  was  named.  As  Bender  fell,  he  rushed. 
The  pistol  spoke  again.  While  the  cook  was  running 
twenty  yards,  a  black,  furious  tangle  writhed  over  the 
bridge,  and  as  he  came  darting  out  from  behind  a  bunch 
of  willow  scrub  he  saw  that  it  was  gone.  Bender  lay 
alone  under  the  moonlight. 

Now  this  was  the  cook  of  a  lumber-camp,  equivalent 
to  saying  that  he  was  a  man  of  parts.  He  had  cooked 
on  B  Contract,  Superior  Construction  Division  of  the 
Trunk  Line,  and  so  had  seen  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  his 
grumblers  go  into  the  dump — a  grisly  foundation  for 
track,  surely  yet  what  better  could  the  builders  of  the 
road  desire  than  to  be  cradled  under  the  ties  and  sleep, 
sleep,  sleep,  to  the  thundering  lullaby  of  the  fast  ex 
press  ?  Which  intimacy  with  the  pale  terror  is  responsi 
ble  for  his  prompt  action  in  these  unusual  premises. 
Molyneux's  bullet  had  merely  grazed  Bender's  temple. 
He  rose,  staggering,  as  the  cook  made  the  bridge,  and, 
seeing  that  he  was  too  sick  and  dizzy  to  handle  the 
situation,  the  latter  took  it  into  his  own  able  hands. 

As  before  mentioned,  a  drive  camp  sleeps  in  its  boots, 

228 


—IS  DEATH 

and  the  shots  had  brought  a  score  out  from  their  sleep 
on  a  hunt  for  causes.  "Man  drove  off  en  the  bridge!" 
he  yelled.  "An'  Cougar  went  after  him!  They're  both 
under  the  drive!  Scatter  down-stream  an*  skin  your 
eyes  for  bubbles!" 

Thus,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  the  cook  wrote 
history — as  accurately,  perhaps,  as  the  run  of  historians; 
for  after  the  drive  once  closed  serried  ranks  over  the 
struggling  men,  they  were  never  seen  again,  so  none 
could  rise  with  an  opposing  theory.  When,  a  few  days 
later,  the  water  was  drawn  off  at  the  first  dam,  the  horses 
floated  out  on  the  shallows.  But  the  men —  ?  The  river 
carried  them  to  its  secret  places;  buried  them  in  some 
scour  or  pothole,  free  at  last,  one  of  his  passions — the 
incubus  of  his  generations  —  the  other  from  his  pain. 
That  night,  if  such  things  be,  the  Cougar  was  joined, 
after  his  years  of  suffering,  in  perfect  knowledge  with 
his  "little  girl." 

16 


XXI 

PERSECUTION 

YES,  the  cook  made  history,  for  though  the  event 
furnished  gossip  for  the  ninety  days  which,  on  the 
lonely  frontier,  corresponds  with  the  world's  nine  days' 
wonder,  his  story  was  never  questioned.  The  truth  lay 
buried  between  him  and  Bender,  and  if  either  visited 
her  grave,  it  was  never  in  company  with  the  other. 
Up  to  the  time  that  delirium  tremens  removed  the 
cook  from  the  snows  of  a  Rocky  Mountain  camp  to 
a  sphere  where  pots  are  said  to  boil  with  or  without 
watching,  Bender  never  knew  just  how  much  or  little 
he  really  knew. 

To  others  the  event  appeared  under  varying  com 
plexions.  Helen  and  Jenny  were  shocked  at  Molyneux's 
death,  the  latter  without  astonishment,  though  her  firm 
belief  that  sin  had  at  last  received  its  full  wage  was 
without  trace  of  malignance;  both  were  sorrier  than 
they  had  any  right  to  be;  and  both  mourned  the 
Cougar.  As  for  the  settlers,  they  regarded  the  affair 
rather  in  the  light  of  a  special  dispensation  of  Provi 
dence.  Flocking  to  the  auction  of  Molyneux's  effects  a 
month  later,  they  caballed  against  high  bidding,  paid 
for  chattels  they  bought  at  ridiculous  prices  in  long 
time  notes,  for  that  was  the  "Black  Year,"  and  through 
out  Manitoba  nothing  could  be  sold  for  cash. 

Poverty,  sociologists  tell  us,  is  the  mother  of  crime, 
and  as  those  hard  times  subsequently  influenced  the 

230 


PERSECUTION 

settlers  in  their  attitude  towards  Helen,  they  are  surely 
worthy  of  mention.  To  begin,  the  country  was  prac 
tically  bankrupt.  The  frost  of  the  preceding  fall  had 
left  the  wheat  useless,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  the 
provincial  government  had  imported  and  distributed 
free  seed,  not  an  acre  of  grain  would  have  been  sown 
that  year.  The  seriousness  of  the  crisis  may  be  gauged 
by  the  legislature's  further  action  in  enacting  an  ex 
emption  law  that  practically  excluded  all  of  a  farmer's 
goods  and  chattels  from  legal  execution.  This  was  good, 
but  in  that  it  was  not,  nor  could  be  made  retroactive, 
it  benefited  only  the  new-comers  and  left  the  pioneers, 
who  had  spent  their  little  all  opening  up  the  country, 
still  liable  to  foreclosure  and  execution. 

On  the  northern  settlers  times  had  borne  particularly 
hard.  During  boom  years  all  had  assumed  loan  in 
debtedness,  and  whereas  creditors  had  bided  patiently 
successive  lean  seasons  on  the  chance  of  a  branch  rail 
road  and  bumper  crop,  now  that  the  country's  credit, 
its  very  future  was  trembling  in  the  balance ;  implement- 
men  and  store-keepers  raced  with  twenty-per-cent.  Shy- 
locks  to  grab  what  they  could  from  the  wreck.  That 
spring  the  sheriff  of  Brandon  was  the  busiest  man  in 
the  country-side.  He  and  his  deputies  sowed  summonses, 
executions,  foreclosures  broadcast  over  the  land.  Wolves 
of  the  law,  they  harried  the  farmers  till  the  optimism 
of  the  brilliant  emigration  pamphlets  was  swamped,  sub 
merged  beneath  inky  pessimism.  Small  wonder  that — 
coupled  with  idleness,  breeder  of  mischief,  in  the  slack 
season  that  Glaves  feared  between  seeding  and  haying 
— small  wonder  that  some  of  the  rancor  bred  by  hard 
conditions  should  be  vented  upon  Helen. 

She  may  be  said  to  have  stood  in  an  uncomfortable 
position  as  lightning  conductor  between  this  cloud  of 
spleen  and  the  earth,  upon  which  it  should  have  prop- 

231 


THE  SETTLER 

erly  been  discharged.  And  looking  back,  one  may  see 
the  storm  gathering  over  her  fair  head,  observing  in 
its  approach  all  of  the  natural  phenomena :  first  the  cold 
wind,  social  disfavor,  the  whispers;  next,  heavy  drops 
thudding  in  the  dust,  the  snubs  and  slights;  lastly, 
thunder,  lightning,  rain,  downright  persecution. 

The  whispers,  of  course,  she  did  not  hear,  but  she  could 
not  overlook  the  difference  in  trail  greetings,  which 
were  either  far  too  warm  or  much  too  cool,  according 
to  the  years  and  disposition  of  the  greeter.  Coldness 
was  endurable,  but  the  rude  stares,  conscious  laughter 
of  the  younger  boors  often  caused  her  to  fly  the  hot 
colors  of  angry  shame.  Yet  even  this  hurt  less  than 
the  sudden,  shy  suspicion  of  her  pupils.  Whereas  they 
were  wont  to  hang  upon  her  skirts,  they  now  held  aloof 
in  play  hours,  and  ran  straight  home  from  school. 

"Mother  says  I'm  not  to  walk  with  you  any  more," 
one  tot  explained  her  haste.  How  that  stung!  Having 
only  the  faintest  of  ideas,  little  more  than  a  suspicion 
of  the  strength  and  nature  of  this  uncomfortable  prej 
udice,  she  resented  it  as  bitter  injustice,  and  held  a 
proud  head  until  a  thing  happened  that  almost  broke 
her  spirit. 

Of  all  the  settler  women,  Ruth  Murchison  was  the  one 
girl  with  whom  Helen  had  been,  or  could  be,  on  any 
thing  like  terms  of  intimacy.  Quiet  and  thoughtful, 
Ruth  had  gone  through  the  English  common  schools, 
and  had  taken  the  Junior  Oxford  Examination,  to  which 
passable  education  a  taste  for  good  reading  had  formed 
a  further  bond.  Wherefore  Helen  was  delighted  when, 
one  day,  news  drifted  into  the  post-office  that  Ruth  was 
to  be  married  to  the  Probationer,  the  young  minister 
who  preached  Merrill's  funeral  sermon. 

Borrowing  a  beast  from  Glaves,  she  rode  north  one 
evening  to  offer  congratulations,  and  as  the  Murchisons 

232 


PERSECUTION 

lived  several  miles  north  of  Silver  Creek  Valley,  night 
fell  while  she  still  lacked  half  a  mile  of  the  homestead. 
From  that  distance  the  windows'  yellow  blaze  advised 
of  fuss  and  busy  preparation.  Drawing  nearer,  voices, 
laughter,  the  whir  of  an  egg-beater,  clatter  of  cooking- 
gear  came  down  the  trail  merrily  freighting  the  dusk. 
Infected  by  the  cheer,  she  gave  a  shrill  halloa,  spurred 
to  a  gallop,  and  drew  in  at  the  door  with  a  clatter  of 
hoofs. 

"Ruth!     Oh,  Ruth!"  she  called.     "Ruth-y!" 

Instantly  the  voices  hushed,  then,  after  an  uncom 
fortable  pause,  she  heard  Mrs.  Murchison  say,  in  thin, 
constrained  tones,  "Mrs.  Carter  is  out  there,  father." 

Followed  a  shuffling,  and  the  door  opened  revealing 
Murchison  framed  in  yellow  light.  Stout,  robust,  ruddy, 
with  that  mottled-beef  English  complexion,  he  came  of 
that  stout  yeoman  stock  whose  twanging  long-bows 
sounded  France's  knell  at  Crecy  and  Poitiers,  of  that  rich 
blood  the  slow  drainage  of  which  to  her  colonies  has  left 
England  flabby,  enaemic,  flaccid.  He  had  not  wished  to 
leave,  but  the  motherland  had  become  industrial  with 
out  further  place  for  her  yeoman.  Over  fields  that 
were  enriched  by  the  tilth  of  thirty  Murchison  genera 
tions,  a  thousand  factories  were  depositing  soot  and 
blighting  acids.  American  wheat  and  beeves  had  wiped 
out  profits,  while  enormous  rents  ate^up  the  farmer's 
substance.  So  Murchison,  England's  best,  had  become 
partner  in  exile  with  the  remittance-men,  her  worst. 
Undoubtedly,  there  was  no  symptom  of  remittance  weak 
ness  in  the  scowl  he  turned  on  Helen. 

Behind  him  Helen  could  see  Ruth,  red  and  embar 
rassed,  hanging  her  head  over  the  egg-beater.  A  half- 
dozen  girls  and  neighboring  women,  who  had  come  in 
to  help  in  the  baking  and  brewing,  were  exchanging 
meaning  glances  across  the  table. 

233 


THE  SETTLER 

"Ruth?  She's  well,"  Murchison  answered  her  ques 
tion. 

She  knew  what  to  expect  now,  but  nerved  herself  to 
face  the  situation.  "Can't  I  see  her?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"Because  she  don't  run  with  your  kind." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Murchison!" 

He  felt  the  heart  sickness,  yet  glowered  relentlessly, 
for  it  had  been  the  habit  of  his  forebears  to  thrash  their 
women  into  good  behavior.  He  itched  to  do  it  now  for 
the  good  of  her  soul,  but,  lacking  the  power,  he  growled: 

"If  you  don't  like  it — keep  better  company." 

If  he  had  been  alone,  she  would  undoubtedly  have 
challenged  his  reproach  and,  while  clearing  herself  in 
his  eyew,  have  turned  away  future  trouble.  But  a 
titter  from  within  fired  her  pride.  "Very  well,  please 
give  her  my  congratulations."  And  turning  she  rode 
away. 

Good-hearted  as  rough,  Murchison  stared  after,  strick 
en  with  sudden  compunction.  He  knew  that  she  must 
have  intended  to  stay  the  night,  and  here  she  was  a 
timorous  woman  riding  out  into  the  darkness.  "Here!" 
he  shouted.  "Come  back!" 

But  she  held  on,  eyes  snapping,  cheeks  aflame,  throat 
convulsed  under  the  strain  of  suppressing  imminent 
hysteria.  Beyond  earshot  she  broke  down,  venting  her 
injured  loneliness  in  broken  speech  between  bursts  of 
sobbing.  "They  hate — me.  Condemn  me — because — 
my  husband  left  me.  It  wasn't  my — fault — that  is, 
altogether."  She  hastily  corrected  herself.  "Of  course 
— I  failed  him.  But  I  was — sorry — would  have  done 
better — if  he  had — given  me  a  chance.  He's  so  stern — • 
and  stiff — "  She  would  not  even  let  this  undoubted 
truth  pass  unmodified.  "But  then  —  he  thought  I 

234 


PERSECUTION 

didn't — love  him.  Perhaps  I  didn't — then.  I  was  a 
little  fool.  But  I  do!  I  do!"  She  stretched  wild  arms 
to  the  darkness.  "I  do!  I  do!  I  do!"  But  the 
velvet  night  returned  nothing  to  her  embrace  and  she 
collapsed,  sobbing,  upon  the  pony's  neck.  Still  the  cry 
did  her  good,  tided  over  hysteria,  composed  and  quieted 
her  so  that  she  was  able  to  meet  the  trustee's  glance  of 
spectacled  inquiry  as  she  entered  the  cabin. 

Kindliness  as  well  as  curiosity  inhered  in  his  glance, 
for,  besides  the  cash  and  educational  prestige  which  she 
had  brought  to  his  cabin,  Jimmy  had  come  to  like  her 
for  herself.  The  frost  and  grizzle  of  fifty  winters  thawed 
under  his  smile  as  he  threw  a  Winnipeg  paper  across  the 
table.  "Catch!  Just  kem  in.  Yes,  there's  a  story 
'bout  him.  Now,  don't  eat  it."  > 

Metaphorically,  she  did,  indeed,  devour  the-  article, 
and  while  she  read  the  trustee  watched  with  something 
of  puzzled  astonishment  the  lovely  tide  that  flowed 
out  from  the  lace  at  her  neck,  and  drowned  her  pale 
creams  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  He  had  ample  oppor 
tunity  for  study  as  the  article  was  long.  Just  then 
Carter's  line,  with  its  promise  of  competition,  focussed 
the  interest  of  the  entire  province,  and  some  enterprising 
scribe  had  risen  to  the  opportunity  afforded  by  a  visit 
west  of  the  general  manager  of  the  trunk  line,  to  inter 
view  him  upon  the  probable  action  of  his  road  in  pro 
ceedings  to  condemn  a  crossing  of  its  right  of  way. 
Time,  however,  had  not  abated  one  iota  of  the  mana 
ger's  sphinx  like  quality.  While  affable,  he  had  declined 
to  discuss  railroad  politics,  remarking  that  his  company 
did  not  "cross  bridges  before  they  were  built."  Inter 
viewed  in  his  turn  upon  the  significance  of  the  aforesaid 
remark,  Carter  had  ventured  the  opinion  that  the  trunk- 
line  people  would  not  oppose  the  crossing,  and  thereby 
had  provoked  a  flaming  editorial  upon  his  artlessness. 

235 


THE  SETTLER 

"If  the  people  behind  Mr.  Carter  imagine  that  the 
greediest  monopoly  in  history  will  loose  its  grip  on  this 
province  till  the  law's  crowbar  pries  off  its  fingers  one 
by  one,  they  are  mightily  mistaken,"  the  editor  hotly 
declared.  "Forewarned  is  forearmed,  and  we  hereby 
present  them,  gratis,  with  this  piece  of  information — 
while  they  are  running  their  grades  in  peaceful  confi 
dence  that  will  be  most  appropriate  in  the  innocent 
age  when  lion  and  lamb  lie  down  together,  the  monopoly 
is  gathering  men  and  means,  preparing  to  crush  their 
enterprise  by  force  should  the  crooked  enginery  of  the 
law  fail  its  purpose.  Why  else  have  five  hundred  extra 
men  been  distributed  among  the  sections  on  either  side 
of  the  proposed  crossing?  Why  does  a  gravel-train 
stand  there  permanently  across  the  proposed  right  of 
way  ?  Soon  Mr.  Carter  will  receive  unmistakable  answer 
to  these  questions." 

"He's  dead  right  there,  that  editor  man,"  the  trustee 
said  when,  all  rosy  red,  Helen  looked  up  from  her  read 
ing.  "Old  Brass-Bowels  was  born  with  a  nateral  in 
sight  into  the  nater  of  a  dead  cinch." 

"But  won't  the  law  support  my" — she  paused,  then 
proudly  finished — "my  husband?  Can't  he  compel  a 
crossing?" 

"The  law?"  Sniffing,  Jimmy  indicated  the  legal 
patchwork  on  the  wall  with  a  comprehensive  sweep  of 
his  pipe.  "The  law  said  as  I  was  to  pay  them,  but  did 
I?  Humph!" 

"But  they'll  hardly  dare  to  fly  in  the  face  of  the 
province?  Public  opinion  is  a  great  moral  force."  She 
quoted  a  sentence  from  the  editorial  with  gusto. 

"Yes,  but  'tain't  much  of  a  club.  Did  you  ever  see 
one  of  my  hawgs  stan*  aside,  even  when  he  was  full,  to 
let  another  have  a  go  at  the  trough  ?  Not  till  I  hit  him 
on  the  snout.  Well,  they  ain't  agoin*  to  cross  the 

236 


PERSECUTION 

trunk  line  these  two  years,  an*  for  my  part  I  don't  care 
if  they  never  cross." 

"Why?"  Her  eyes  dilated  widely.  ''Wouldn't  a 
competing  line  benefit  you — all  of  the  province?" 

Nodding,  he  regarded  her  from  half-shut  eyes.  "Oh, 
I  ain't  expecting  to  walk  on  gold  this  side  o*  the  pearly 
gates.  As  for  my  reasons,  they  ain't  a  mile  away  from 
here.  I'm  not  wishing  too  much  success  for  a  man 
that  deserts  his  wife." 

Touched  and  very  much  flushed  as  to  the  face  by 
his  genuine,  if  crabbed  sympathy,  the  Reasons  yet 
shook  her  head  and  spoke  up  for  the  recreant  hus 
band  stoutly  as  she  had  defended  him  against  herself. 
She  made,  however,  small  headway  against  his  obdu 
racy. 

"Well,  that's  the  way  I  see  it.  By-the-way,"  he  add 
ed,  heading  off  a  disposition  for  further  argument,  "did 
you  see  the  evangelist?  Pitched  his  tent  over  by 
Flynn's.  You  want  to  go.  Beats  a  three-ring  circus 
when  old  man  Cummings  hits  up  to  his  gait." 

"Jimmy!  Jimmy!"  His  wife  looked  up  from  her 
ironing;  then  daunted,  perhaps,  by  his  twinkle,  she  ad 
dressed  Helen.  "He  hadn't  orter  talk  that  away,  my 
dear.  If  Mr.  Cummings  does  go  on  the  rampage  a  bit 
when  he  gets  het  up,  at  least  he's  sincere.  As  for  him — " 
She  turned  a  severe  eye  on  her  husband.  "We'll  get 
him  yet." 

"Yes,  I  see  myself.  Her  idea  of  heaven  " — he  shrug 
ged  at  the  ironing-board — -"is  an  eternal  class-meeting 
with  everybody  giving  their  experience — love-feast  she 
calls  it.  I  like  something  solider.  Give  me  plenty  to 
eat,  a  pipe  by  a  warm  fire,  an'  something  to  read,  an' 
I'll  sign  away  my  harp  an'  crown."  Ignoring  his  bet 
ter-half's  remark  that  he  would  not  lack  the  fire,  he 
finished:  "She's  going.  Wouldn't  miss  a  meeting. 

237 


THE  SETTLER 

Kedn't  keep  her  away  with  a  club.  So  if  you'd  alike  to 
see  some  fun — " 

"If  'twas  jes'  out  of  curiosity  I'd  ask  her  to  stay  at 
home,"  his  wife  interrupted.  "But  she's  not  that  kind, 
an'  I'll  be  glad  to  take  her." 

"If  you  will?"  Helen  assented,  and  so,  returning  to 
the  analogy,  placed  herself  directly  beneath  the  leaden 
belly  of  the  lowering  storm. 


XXII 

DENUNCIATION 

A  MOLTEN  sun  was  smouldering  in  the  ashes  of 
day  when,  the  following  evening,  Helen  with  Mrs. 
Glaves,  drove  up  to  the  gospel-tent.  It  still  lacked  half 
an  hour  of  meeting- time,  so,  while  her  companion  joined 
the  early  arrivals  who  were  passing  time  by  holding  a 
service  of  song  inside,  Helen  remained  in  the  buckboard 
and  watched  the  sunset,  observed  herself  by  a  group  of 
remittance-men  and  a  scattering  of  settler  youths  who 
sprawled  near  by  on  the  grass. 

Enthralled,  she  scarcely  saw  them;  had  eyes  only  for 
the  ruby  sun  that  stained  the  prairies  with  amber  in 
candescences,  the  ribbed  glories  of  the  fiery  cloud  pil 
lars  that  seemed  to  uphold  the  darkling  vault  above.  As 
the  orb  slid  into  his  blankets  of  rose  and  gold,  shy  stars 
peeped  down  at  the  violet  shadows  that  crawled  slowly 
up  the  slopes  and  knolls ;  over  all  fell  the  hush  of  evening. 

It  was  one  of  the  moments  when  the  Riddle  of  In 
finity,  Puzzles  of  Time,  Space,  Eternity  appear  as  con 
crete  though  unthinkable  realities;  weigh  down  and 
oppress  the  soul  with  a  sense  of  its  insignificance. 
Against  the  black-blue  vault  the  stars  loomed  as  worlds ; 
she  could  see  beyond,  around  them.  Through  vast 
voids  planets  were  rushing  on  their  courses;  suns  with 
attendant  systems  swung  on  measured  arcs  obedient 
to — what  ?  .  .  .  A  thin  minor,  querulous  plaint  stole  out 
on  the  hush: 

239 


THE  SETTLER 

"Poor  crawling  Worm  of  Earth, 
A  Child  of  Sin  am  I—" 

It  was  an  honest  attempt  at  the  riddle,  but  its  in 
congruity,  futile  insufficiency  caused  her  to  shrug  with 
sudden  annoyance.  She  wondered  if,  somewhere  in 
planetary  space,  other  "pinches  of  sentient  dust"  were 
equally  afflicted  with  a  sense  of  their  central  importance 
in  the  scheme  of  things.  The  apologetic  whine  spoiled 
the  sunset;  she  impatiently  turned  to  watch  the  arrivals 
— the  wagons,  buck-boards,  horsemen — that  were  stream 
ing  in  on  every  trail. 

"How  are  you,  Mrs.  Carter?" 

It  was  Danvers,  Molyneux's  old  pupil.  An  honest 
lad  and  merry,  she  always  liked  him,  and  now  made  him 
welcome  to  the  seat  beside  her,  and  laughed  at  his  fire 
of  chaff.  Indicating  Cummings,  whose  ovine  expression 
had  sustained  no  diminution  since  the  day  he  bearded 
the  general  manager,  he  remarked:  "He's  great,  Mrs. 
Carter;  puts  it  all  over  Henry  Irving.  And  there's  the 
sky  pilot!  What  a  Jovelike  port!" 

There  was,  of  course,  little  wit  and  less  humor  in  his 
chaff,  but  his  intentions  were  honorable,  so,  ignoring  the 
sour  looks  of  the  arriving  settlers,  she  gave  him  smiling 
attention  up  to  the  moment  they  entered  the  tent  to 
gether,  and  so  prepared  the  way  for  what  followed.  For 
though,  going  in,  she  left  levity  without,  her  modest  and 
devout  bearing  could  not  mitigate  her  offence  in  allying 
herself  with  the  English  Ishmael.  It  was  aggravated, 
moreover,  by  her  remaining  with  him  in  close  proximity 
to  the  remittance  crowd  on  the  back  benches.  There 
after  nothing  could  save  her;  she  remained  a  target  for 
sour  glances  throughout  the  service. 

This  was  on  the  usual  pattern — rousing  hymns,  prayer, 
testimony,  and  exhortation  —  then  when  groans  and 

240 


DENUNCIATION 

ejaculations  testified  to  the  spiritual  temperature,  the 
evangelist,  a  stout  man  of  bull-like  build,  proceeded  to 
cut  off  yards  of  the  "undying  worm,"  and  to  measure 
bushels  of  the  "fire  that  quencheth  not"  for  the  portion 
of  such  as  refused  to  view  the  problems  of  Infinity 
through  aught  but  his  own  wildly  gleaming  spectacles. 
His  discourse,  indeed,  bristled  with  those  cant  terms 
which,  while  entirely  devoid  of  meaning,  are  still  emi 
nently  conducive  of  religious  hysteria,  and  his  efforts 
were  the  more  successful  because  of  the  absence  of  the 
Probationer,  a  thoughtful  young  fellow  whose  rare  com 
mon-sense  could  be  depended  upon  to  prevent  religious 
emotion  from  degenerating  into  epilepsy. 

Lacking  his  wholesome  presence,  the  evangelist  paced 
the  platform  under  the  yellow  lantern-light,  stretching 
long,  black  arms,  hovering  over  the  people  like  some 
huge,  dark  bird  as  he  pleaded,  threatened,  thundered, 
launching  his  fiery  periods  on  a  groaning  wave  of 
"amens"  and  "hallelujahs."  As  he  went  on,  painting 
heaven  and  hell  into  his  lurid  scheme  of  things,  sighs 
and  exclamations  grew  in  volume,  flooding  feeling  pulsed 
through  the  audience,  wild  settler  youths,  who  had  come 
to  scoff,  exchanged  uneasy  glances  on  the  back  benches, 
sure  sign  of  a  coming  stampede. 

This  was  the  psychological  moment,  and,  skilled  in 
his  trade,  the  revivalist  pounced  upon  it.  Stilling  the 
groaning  chorus  with  upheld  hand,  he  solemnly  invited 
all  who  were  not  against  the  Lord  Jesus  to  stand,  an 
old  revival  trick  and  one  which  now,  as  always,  turned. 
For,  as  before  said,  the  plains  were  not  yet  infected 
with  the  leprosy  of  agnosticism,  and,  Episcopalians  to 
a  man,  even  the  Englishmen  were  not  willing  to  pose 
as  the  open  enemies  of  God. 

Once  standing  and  pilloried  in  the  public  eye,  it  was 
but  a  question  of  minutes  until  the  back  benches  began 

241 


THE  SETTLER 

to  yield  up  penitents.  One  by  one  the  settler  youths 
were  gathered  into  the  mourning  bench,  until  at  last 
Helen  stood  alone  with  the  Englishmen. 

"Come  ye!  Come  ye  to  the  Lord!"  The  preacher 
pleaded,  but,  haughty  and  coldly  constrained,  the  re 
mittance-men  ignored  the  invitation;  and  so,  for  the 
space  of  a  thunderous  hymn  of  praise,  gnostic  civiliza 
tion  and  the  fervid  frontier  faced  each  other  across 
the  middle  benches.  From  that  dramatic  setting  any 
thing  might  come.  Moment,  feeling,  atmosphere,  all 
pointed  to  the  event  that  came  to  pass  as  the  hymn 
died. 

Leaping  upon  a  bench,  and  so  adding  its  height  to 
unusual  tallness,  a  woman  pointed  a  warning  hand  at 
the  unbelievers.  Thin,  family- worn,  and  naturally  ca 
daverously  yellow,  she  was  now  flushed  with  the  fever 
of  delirium.  "In  that  day,"  she  screeched,  "the  Tares 
shall  be  separated  from  the  Wheat  and  cast  with  the 
grass  into  the  oven!"  Then,  while  her  finger  indicated 
man  after  man,  she  raised  the  grewsome  hymn: 

"«I  heard  the  Sinners  Wailing,  Wailing,  Wailing, 
I  heard  the  Sinners  Wailing  on  that  Great  Day!'" 

Travelling  around  the  benches,  her  skinny  finger 
finally  fastened  on  Helen,  and,  as  the  lugubrious  refrain 
came  to  an  end,  she  burst  forth  in  tremendous  para 
phrase:  "Beware  ye  of  the  Scarlet  Woman!  Avoid  ye, 
for  her  portals  lead  down  to  Death ;  her  feet  take  hold  of 
Hell!" 

The  silence  of  paralysis  followed.  So  still  it  was  that 
a  mosquito's  thin  whine  sounded  through  the  tent,  the 
tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  came  in  from  far  pastures,  a  dog 
could  be  heard  barking  a  long  way  off.  Swinging  from 
the  tent-pole,  a  circle  of  lanterns  lit  dark,  flushed  faces, 
and  thus,  for  the  space  of  a  long  breath,  Helen  faced 

242 


DENUNCIATION 

the  virago,  the  one  glowering,  malignant,  the  other  pale 
with  astonishment,  mutely  indignant.  She  was  not 
confused.  On  the  contrary,  thought  and  vision  were 
surprisingly  clear;  she  noted  Mrs.  Glaves's  shocked  look, 
the  vindictive  settler  faces,  the  Englishmen's  blank  ex 
pressions. 

"  We  had  better  go.  May  I  drive  home,  Mrs.  Carter  ?" 
Danvers,  the  witless,  the  foolish,  rose  to  the  situation. 

Low-pitched,  his  voice  yet  carried  to  every  ear,  as  did 
her  clear  reply: 

"After  the  service  is  over." 

It  was  defiance  as  well  as  answer,  and  as  she  threw 
it  in  the  lowering  face  of  the  congregation,  her  glance 
fixed  on  the  evangelist  who,  till  then,  had  stood,  mouth 
open,  hand  arrested  midway  of  a  gesture,  a  bearded, 
spectacled  effigy  of  ridiculous  surprise.  Starting  under 
her  pale  scorn,  he  flushed,  looked  for  a  second  through 
shining,  bewildered  glasses,  then  strode  forward  and 
seized  the  virago's  arm. 

"Sister,  sister!  Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged!" 
Then,  himself  again,  he  swept  a  pudgy  hand  over  the 
benches.  "Sit  down,  all!  Brother  Cummings  will  lead 
in  prayer." 

It  mercifully  happens  that  sudden  calamity  carries 
its  own  anaesthetic  in  that  it  blinds,  confuses,  destroys 
feeling,  numbs  the  faculties  that  ought  to  register  its 
importance.  Under  Helen's  unnatural  calmness  she 
was  dimly  conscious  of  a  sick  excitejnent,  but  this  was 
unrelated  with  her  thought.  She  saw  and  sensed  as 
usual;  was  aware  of  curious  backward  glances,  the 
sympathy  of  the  Englishmen  at  her  side;  heard  every 
word  of  Cummings's  sputtering  prayer,  the  following 
hymn  and  benediction;  only  her  mind  refused  commerce 
with  these  things.  Divorced  from  the  present,  it  jug 
gled  the  terms  of  an  equation  in  that  day's  lesson  up 

243 


THE  SETTLER 

to  the  moment  that  the  remittance-men  came  crowding 
about  Danvers'  rig  after  the  meeting. 

Aside  from  their  looseness  and  general  inefficiency,  the 
lads  were  brave  enough,  and  though  some  of  them 
had  won  or  lost  bets  on  her  reputation,  winners  were 
no  more  eager  than  losers  to  avenge  the  insult  that 
had  been  provoked  by  her  association  with  them 
selves. 

"Just  say  the  word,  Mrs.  Carter,"  Danvers  pleaded, 
"and  we'll  lick  the  crowd." 

"And  put  a  head  on  the  preacher,"  young  Poole 
added,  sinfully  licking  his  chops. 

From  the  darkness  that  enveloped  the  press  of  rigs 
and  wagons  rose  jeering  voices,  sneers,  laughter,  the 
conscious  cackle  of  scandal.  Several  times  she  heard 
her  own  name.  There  was  provocation  and  to  spare, 
but  though  a  word  would  have  started  a  racial  riot, 
she  desired  only  solitude,  to  flutter  home  like  a  wound 
ed  bird  to  its  nest. 

"No,  no!"  she  answered  them.  "Take  me  home! 
Only  take  me  home!" 

Arrived  there,  she  flew  to  her  own  room  leaving 
Danvers  to  enlighten  the  trustee.  Lying  face  down  on 
her  bed,  she  heard  the  rumble  of  their  conversation, 
Jimmy's  violent  reflections  upon  revivals  particular  and 
general,  his  wife's  whimpering  protests  when  she  re 
turned.  His  growl  extended  far  into  the  night,  and 
when  it  was  finally  extinguished  by  a  robust  snoring, 
the  girl  was  afflicted  with  a  sense  of  lost  companionship ; 
thereafter  she  had  to  suffer  it  out  by  herself. 

There  would  be  more  pain  than  profit  in  describing 
her  reflections,  agonizings.  Sufficient  to  know  that  a 
knife  in  the  breast  hurts  a  woman  less  than  a  stab  at 
her  reputation,  and  her  thought  was  none  the  sweeter 
for  the  knowledge  that  she  had  drawn  the  blow  by  giv- 

244 


DENUNCIATION 

ing  way  to  her  pique.  Her  resolve  as  expressed  next 
morning  to  Jimmy  Glaves  is  of  more  concern. 

She  had  turned  impatiently  from  Mrs.  Glaves's  tear 
ful  apologies,  but  when  the  old  trustee  laid  a  kindly 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  as  she  passed  him  in  the  garden 
on  her  way  to  school,  she  gave  him  honest  eyes. 

"Now, you  ain't  to  bother.  'Twas  on'y  Betsy  Rodd. 
the  old  harridan.  Nobody  minds  her." 

But  she  shook  her  head  in  accordance  with  her  reso 
lution  to  face  truth.  "She  was  expressing  what  was 
in  everybody's  minds.  I  know  it,  and  though  I  didn't 
intend  it,  I'm  partly  to  blame  for  their  suspicion." 
Her  mouth  drew  thin  and  firm  as  she  finished.  "  I  shall 
live  it  down." 

"Course  you  will!"  he  heartily  agreed.  "That's  my 
brave  girl!"  But  his  face  darkened  after  she  had  passed 
on,  and  he  slowly  wagged  a  grave  head  as  he  plied  his 
hoe  in  the  garden. 

For  he  knew  the  difficulty,  impossibility  of  the  task 
she  had  marked  out  for  herself.  Of  Scotch  descent, 
dogmatic,  wedded  to  convention,  intense  clannishness 
reinforced  in  the  settlers  bitter  morality,  racial  hatred, 
the  condemnation  of  sin.  With  them  the  offence  of  the 
fathers  was  visited  upon  the  children  to  the  fourth  gen 
eration.  It  was  remembered,  for  instance,  against  Don 
ald  Ross  that  his  great-grandfather  had  died  a  drunkard, 
and  the  fact  had  limited  his  choice  of  a  wife ;  the  daugh 
ters  of  Hector  MacCloud  took  inferior  husbands  because 
their  grandmother  had  been  born  on  the  easy  side  of  the 
knot.  Handing  such  cold  charity  around  among  them 
selves,  what  mercy  were  they  likely  to  extend  to  the 
suspected  stranger  within  their  gates  ?  Jimmy  was  still 
wagging  his  head  when,  half  an  hour  later,  the  Proba 
tioner  reined  in  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 

Hearing  of  the  scandal  on  the  Lone  Tree  trail,  the 

17  24.5 


THE  SETTLER 

young  man  had  turned  aside  to  express  his  sorrow,  and 
now  listened  patiently  while  the  trustee  drew  invidious 
parallels  between  the  religious  movement  then  proceed 
ing  and  his  own  misfit  horticulture.  "You  see  them?" 
Removing  his  pipe  from  between  his  teeth,  he  waved  it 
at  some  half-dozen  straggling  apple-shoots.  "  Hardiest 
variety  of  Siberian  crabs.  Professor  at  the  government 
experimental  station  warranted  'em  to  grow  at  the  north 
pole.  Remind  me  of  your  revival,  they  do." 

''Why?  Don't  they  grow?"  The  Probationer 
smiled. 

"Grow?  I  should  swan!  four  feet  every  summer,  an* 
freeze  off  to  the  roots  every  winter — jes'  like  your  con 
verts.  Get  all  het  up  at  meetings,  blossom  with  grace, 
then  comes  the  backsliding,  the  frost,  an'  nips  the  leaf 
age.  Where's  the  sense  of  it?" 

Now  the  Probationer  had  his  own  doubts.  Having 
turned  a  prentice  hand  at  revival  work,  he  was  pain 
fully  familiar  with  its  characteristic  phenomena — first, 
hot  enthusiasm,  slow  cooling,  obstinate  adherence  to 
the  form  after  the  spirit  has  fled,  finally  the  reaction 
which  would  leave  his  people  less  charitable,  not  quite 
so  kindly,  a  little  poorer  in  the  things  which  make  for 
the  kingdom  of  Christ  on  earth.  He  had  tried  to  be  a 
real  shepherd  to  his  flock — to  upraise  by  precept,  exam 
ple,  counsel,  and  admonition.  Avoiding  dogma,  he  had 
brought  them  together  irrespective  of  cult  and  creed 
on  the  broad  basis  of  love  and  a  common  humanity, 
and  just  when  he  was  beginning  to  expect  fruit  from 
that  liberal  sowing,  this  bitter  theologian,  the  revivalist, 
had  been  loosed  upon  him.  And  this  was  first  fruit  of 
his  work! 

Jimmy's  illustration  coincided  exactly  with  his  own 
experience,  yet  fealty  to  his  Church  demanded  some 
sort  of  defence.  "Isn't  an  annual  growth  better  than 

246 


DENUNCIATION 

none?"  he  asked.  "The  green  shoots  certainly  improve 
the  appearance  of  your  garden." 

Jimmy  blew  a  derisive  cloud  over  the  few  cabbages, 
two  sickly  cauliflowers,  a  bed  of  onions,  salvage  from 
worms  and  spring  frost  of  half  an  acre's  planting.  "But 
you  don't  get  results.  One  sound  cabbage  is  worth  an 
acre  of  sick  saplings;  a  cheerful  sinner  discounts  a  hun 
dred  puckered  saints.  I'm  scairt  as  the  black  knot  has 
got  inter  that  orchard  o'  yourn,  sir?" 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  the  young  fellow  sadly  agreed. 
"Well,  I  must  try  and  prune  it  out." 

"I'd  advise  the  axe,"  Jimmy  grimly  commented. 
"An*  begin  with  Betsy  Rodd." 

Sorrowing,  the  Probationer  drove  on  to  the  school, 
where  a  very  cold  young  lady  answered  his  call  at  the 
door.  A  slant  of  sunshine  struck  in  under  the  porch 
twining  an  aureole  about  her  golden  head,  creating  an 
auriferous  nimbus  for  her  shapely  figure.  Standing 
there,  so  cold  and  pale,  she  might  have  passed  for  a 
statue  of  purity,  and  the  Probationer,  being  young  and 
still  impressionable  albeit  engaged,  wondered  that  any 
should  have  dared  to  doubt  her.  Thawing  when  he 
mentioned  Ruth,  she  froze  again  as  soon  as  he  touched, 
apologetically,  upon  the  event  of  the  night  before. 

"If  religion  strips  them  of  common  charity,  they 
would  be  better  without  it,"  she  answered  his  apology, 
and  turned  but  a  cold  ear  to  his  plea  for  his  people. 

"They  were  altogether  subject  to  emotion,  incapable 
of  a  reasoned  rule  of  life,"  he  said.  "With  the  fear 
of  God  removed  from  their  hearts,  they  would  drop 
to  unmentionable  levels,  to  say  nothing  of  the  hope 
and  consolation  religion  brought  to  sweeten  their  hard 
lives." 

But  he  made  little  headway.  "I  don't  doubt  they 
are  not  quite  so  bad  as  they  would  like  to  be.  But 

247 


THE  SETTLER 

there,  let  us  drop  the  subject.     Won't  you  come  in  and 
examine  the  children?" 

From  this  conversation  it  will  be  seen  that  her  re 
solve  to  "live  it  down"  was  not  exactly  founded  upon 
grounds  that  would  appeal  to  a  professor  of  ethics;  yet 
her  attitude  was  very  natural,  and  not  so  deplorable  as 
would  at  first  appear.  Was  she  so  much  to  blame? 
Hardness  breeds  hardness,  opposition  its  like.  Fire 
flies  from  the  impact  of  rock  and  iron.  Always  like 
begets  like,  heredity  applies  to  mental  forces.  More 
over,  injured  pride  has  stiffened  more  weak  spines  and 
given  better  results  than  the  command  to  turn  the 
other  cheek;  the  desire  to  "show  people"  lies  at  the 
root  of  many  a  bravery.  Lastly,  once  rehabilitated 
socially,  softness  comes  later  to  the  injured  member, 
increasing  in  ratio  to  the  respect  of  his  or  her  com 
munity.  And  so  it  would  have  been  with  Helen — 
with  a  different  people. 


XXIII 

THE    CHARIVARI 

STRADDLING  a  log  in  his  dooryard,  the  trustee 
whistled  softly  while  he  whittled  and  shaped  a 
pair  of  birch  crooks  into  the  ox-collars  that,  with  trace- 
chains,  are  preferred  in  the  northland  to  the  old-fash 
ioned  bows  and  yoke.  The  revival  was  over.  After 
passing  from  house  to  house  like  measles,  mumps,  or 
other  dark  disease,  infecting  men  on  trail,  by  fireside, 
at  the  plough-tail  with  the  prejudice  he  styled  religion, 
the  evangelist  had  reported  so  many  head  of  "saved"  to 
his  superiors,  and  so  had  swooped  like  a  plague  upon 
other  settlements,  leaving  the  Probationer  to  repair,  as 
best  he  might,  his  ravages  in  this.  Now,  two  weeks 
later,  symptoms  in  Silver  Creek  indicated  a  quick  re 
covery;  extra  meetings  had  altogether  ceased,  bi-weekly 
prayer-meetings  languished,  remarks  at  the  plough-tail 
showed  signs  of  former  vigor;  the  sweat  and  labor  of 
haying  would  undoubtedly  bring  complete  convalescence 
and,  with  it,  danger  for  Helen.  For  while  the  religious 
excitement  had  served  her  by  excluding  all  else  from 
the  settler  mind,  tongues  would  be  the  sharper,  preju 
dice  the  keener  for  the  rest.  It  was  but  a  lull  in  the 
storm,  the  hush  that  follows  the  first  flash  and  crash  of 
thunder. 

It  was  knowledge  of  this  fact  that  inspired  the  trus 
tee's  thoughtful  whistling.  Already  he  smelled  trouble 
on  the  wind,  the  impression  being  formed  on  many 

249 


THE  SETTLER 

small  significances — looks,  nods,  winks,  arid  whispered 
asides  at  "bees"  and  "raisings."  More  important:  his 
cabin,  which,  as  post-office,  had  been  a  social  focus,  centre 
of  news  and  gossip,  a  place  to  linger  and  chat,  had  of 
late  been  almost  deserted.  Calling  for  their  mail,  his 
neighbors  departe.d  with  the  shortest  of  salutations. 
So,  having  had  a  gray  eye  on  trouble  through  all,  he 
was  not  surprised  when  she  presently  appeared  between 
Shinn  and  Hines  in  the  latter's  buck-board.  Indeed,  his 
comment  while  they  were  still  a  hundred  yards  away 
signified  profound  distrust.  "Gummed  if  the  coyotes 
ain't  running  in  packs  this  weather."  His  beetling 
brows,  moreover,  drew  a  grizzled  line  across  his  hawk 
nose  when  the  two  reined  in  opposite;  he  glared  sus 
piciously  while  Hines  glibly  discoursed  on  crops,  weather, 
the  ox-collars;  nor  hesitated  to  interrupt  and  reach  for 
trouble's  forelock. 

"Crops  is  fair  to  middling,  nothing  wrong  with  the 
hay,  the  crooks  is  for  Flynn — now,  what  is  it  ?" 

Hines  blinked  and  looked  silly,  but  the  check  worked 
oppositely  on  Shinn.  Of  that  gaunt,  raw-boned,  back 
woods  type  produced  by  generations  of  ineffable  hard 
ship  and  slavish  labor,  he  stood  over  six  feet,  and 
combined  great  strength  with  mean  ferocity  and  uncon 
trollable  passion.  His  huge  mouth  twitched  feverishly 
as  he  answered,  "Sence  you're  so  pressing  —  it's  the 
talk  through  the  settlement  that  we  orter  have  a  new 
teacher." 

"Umph!"  Grunt  could  not  convey  greater  contempt. 
"Hain't  you  got  a  teacher?" 

"Yes,  but  it's  agreed  that  she  ain't  quite  the  sort  to 
put  over  inner  cent  children." 

This  time  the  trustee  snorted,  "Might  infect  them 
brats  o'  yourn  with  her  sweet  manners,  eh?" 

Shinn  flushed  dully  under  his  yellow  skin.  "That  or 

250 


THE  CHARIVARI 

something  else.  Anyway,  every  one's  agreed  that  she's 
gotter  go." 

"Who's  everybody?" 

"Meeting,  held  at  my  place."  Recovering,  Hines 
backed  up  his  partner. 

"Yes?  First  I  heard  of  it.  Was  Flynn  there? 
Thought  not;  he  ain't  much  of  a  mixer.  Didn't  ask  me, 
did  you?" 

Hines  shuffled  uneasily. ,  '  'Twas  held  after  a  prayer- 
meeting — you  might  ha'  been  there." 

"Prayer-meeting,  eh?  Real  Christian,  wasn't  it,  to 
try  and  take  the  bread  out  of  a  good  girl's  mouth?" 

"Good  ?" 

At  Hines's  sneer  the  trustee  rose,  hand  gripping  hard 
on  a  heavy  crook,  eyes  one  gray  glare  under  ragged  brows, 
temple  veins  ridged  and  swollen.  "I  said  'good.'" 

On  the  frontier  a  man  must  usually  furnish  material 
proof  of  courage,  but  there  are  exceptions  from  whom 
imminent  fearlessness  distils  as  an  exhalation  affecting 
all  who  come  within  its  atmosphere.  Carter  was  such 
a  one;  Glaves  another.  Though  neither  had  found  it 
necessary  to  "make  good"  physically  during  the  settle 
ment's  short  history,  their  ability  to  do  so  was  never  at 
question.  Behind  the  reserve  of  one,  crabbed  sarcasm 
of  the  other,  danger  lay  so  close  to  the  surface  that  it  was 
always  felt,  could  never  be  quite  forgotten.  Indeed,  as 
regards  Glaves,  the  feeling  took  form  in  the  opinion 
often  delivered  when  the  qualities  of  men  were  under 
discussion — "If  the  old  man  ever  gets  started,  some  one 
will  earn  a  quick  funeral."  Now  Hines  quailed,  and 
even  the  truculent  Shinn  observed  silence. 

Glaring  on  the  shrinking  Hines,  the  trustee  went  on: 
"Never  forgot  how  Carter  bluffed  you  out  on  that  hay 
business,  did  you?  An'  as  you  wasn't  man  enough  to 
get  back  at  him,  you  'lowed  to  take  it  out  of  his  wife? 

251 


THE  SETTLER 

Well,  you  ain't  going  to.  You  kin  go  back  an'  tell  them 
that  sent  you  that  so  long  as  Flynn  an'  me  sit  on  the 
board  she'll  teach  this  school." 

"That,"  Shinn  retorted,  "would  be  till  nex'  election, 
but  she  won't  stay  that  long.  Sence  you're  so  stiff 
about  it,  Glaves,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  kain't  fly  in 
the  face  of  this  settlement.  You  may  be  big  wolf,  but 
there's  others  in  the  pack.  If  she's  here  at  the  end  of 
the  month  —  there'll  be  something  doing."  Nodding 
evilly,  he  drove  on,  leaving  the  trustee  to  puzzle  over  his 
meaning  as  he  shaped  and  polished  the  crooks. 

"Bluffing,  I  reckon,"  he  concluded,  and  that,  also, 
was  the  opinion  of  Flynn,  to  whom  he  carried  his  doubts 
that  evening. 

"There'll  be  no  way  for  thim  spalpeens  to  fire  us  av 
the  boord?"  Flynn  queried.  "No?  Phwat  about  an 
opposhition  school?" 

"Agin  the  law  to  build  one  in  this  township." 

"Thin  'tis  all  out  av  the  big  mouth  av  Shinn.  Thalk, 
an'  nothing  more." 

Both  were  confirmed  in  their  opinion  when  the  month 
drew  to  a  peaceful,  if  hot,  end.  Tricked  out  in  various 
green,  woods  and  prairies  slumbered  or  sighed  restlessly 
under  torrid  heat  that  extracted  their  essential  essences, 
weighting  the  heavy  air  with  intense  odors  of  curing 
grasses.  There  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  the  virulent 
tide  of  spleen  was  ready  to  burst  its  banks.  Knowing 
that  another  week  would  bring  on  haying,  with  its  atten 
dant  wars  to  provide  an  outlet  for  feeling,  neither  trustee 
anticipated  the  event  which  occurred  at  the  full  of  the 
moon. 

Though  the  storm  broke  around  Glaves 's  cabin,  Flynn 
received  immediate  notice.  In  pleasant  weather  he  and 
his  wife  would  sit  on  their  doorstep  after  the  children 
were  in  bed,  to  enjoy  the  quiet  hour  while  the  peace  and 

252 


THE  CHARIVARI 

cool  charmed  away  the  cares  of  the  day;  and  this  night 
was  particularly  beautiful.  Over  dewlit  plains  the  moon 
emptied  a  flood  of  silver  and  polished  the  slough  beyond 
the  dooryard  till  it  shone  like  burnished  steel.  Rolling 
off  and  away  under  that  tender  light,  the  huge  earth 
waves  seemed  to  heave,  swell,  sigh  as  a  lover's  bosom 
under  the  sweet  eyes  of  his  mistress,  while  from  the 
corrals  near  by  issued  the  heavy  breathing  of  contented 
kine.  Always  music  in  the  ears  of  a  farmer,  it  stimulated 
Flynn,  set  him  planning  for  the  future ;  but  he  had  hardly 
touched  on  next  year's  increase  before  Mrs.  Flynn  seized 
his  arm. 

"Phwat's  that?" 

At  first  Flynn  thought  that  Glaves  was  " dogging" 
stray  cattle  away  from  his  grain-fields,  but  when  the 
iron  note  of  beaten  pans,  gunshots,  metallic  thundering 
were  added  to  the  first  clash  of  cow-bells,  he  sprang  up. 
"A  charivari!  At  Glaves's!  A  spite  charivari!" 

"Oh,  my  God,  Flynn!"  his  wife  exclaimed.  "That 
poor  girl!"  She  knew  what  that  orgy  of  sound  portend 
ed.  A  jest  at  weddings,  the  charivari  was  sometimes 
used  as  a  sinister  weapon  to  express  communal  dislike  or 
punish  suspicion  of  sin.  The  most  terrible  memory  of 
her  girlhood  was  associated  with  a  party  of  fiercely  moral 
backwoodsmen  that  flogged  a  man  at  her  father's  wagon- 
tail  and  dragged  a  woman,  who  had  offended  public 
morals,  naked  and  screaming  through  a  field  of  thistles. 
In  Silver  Creek  were  men  who  had  participated  in  that 
cruelty,  forced  to  emigrate  to  escape  the  law.  Small 
wonder  that  she  agonized  under  the  thought.  "Flynn! 
Flynn,  man!  Hurry,  get  your  horse!" 

Holding  the  light  for  him  to  saddle,  she  called  after 
as  he  rode  away :  "  Go  round  be  Misther  Danvers' !  'Tis 
on'y  a  mile  out  av  your  way!  Going  by  here  at  noon, 
himself  told  me  that  he  was  to  have  a  sthag-party  the 

253 


THE  SETTLER 

night!     They'll  jump  at  the  chance,  an'  fight  none  the 
worse  for  a  smhell  av  the  whiskey!" 

A  cold,  with  complications  in  the  shape  of  rheumatic 
pains,  sent  the  trustee  early  to  bed  that  evening,  and 
Helen  was  sewing  by  the  fire  with  Mrs.  Glaves  when  the 
charivari  turned  loose  outside.  As,  jumping  up,  they 
stood  staring  at  one  another,  he  shouted  for  them  to  bolt 
the  door;  and  as,  after  complying,  Helen  returned  to  the 
fire  he  came  limping  out,  bent,  warped,  and  twisted  by 
sciatica,  half  dressed,  but  grimly  resolute. 

"Danger?"  he  rasped,  swinging  round  on  his  wife  as 
the  house  trembled  under  sudden  thunder  of  scurrying 
hoofs  outside.  "Listen!"  And  when  pained  bellows  fol 
lowed  dropping  shots,  he  added:  "Peppering  the  cattle. 
Scairt  ?  Then  go  an'  stick  your  fool  head  under  a  pillow. 
How  is  it  with  you  ?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Helen's  face  was  as  white  as  the 
fluffy  shawl  from  which  her  golden  head  rose  like  a  yellow 
crocus  above  soft  spring  snows;  but,  noting  the  thin,  scar 
let  line  of  her  mouth,  the  trustee  nodded  his  satisfaction. 
"You'll  do.  Swing  round  that  lounge — here,  where  I 
can  train  a  gun  on  the  door.  Good!"  He  eased  his 
length  along  it  with  a  groan  of  relief.  "Now  hand  me 
the  gun — no,  the  other."  Rehanging  his  own  long  duck- 
gun  upon  its  wooden  pegs,  she  brought  him  the  famous 
double-barrelled  Greener  which,  having  disarranged  the 
lock  action  in  trying  to  clean  it,  Danvers  had  left  with 
the  trustee  for  repairs.  "There,  put  out  the  light  an' 
take  a  look  out  at  the  window." 

Pulling  the  curtain  aside,  she  got  full  benefit  of  the 
brazen  clamor  while  learning  something  of  its  genesis, 
for,  while  easily  recognizable,  the  din  of  beaten  pans, 
cow-bells,  gunshots,  and  yells  formed  only  a  minor  ac 
companiment  to  a  barbarous  metallic  roll,  louder  than 

254 


THE  CHARIVARI 

a  corps  of  beaten  drums,  and  a  discordant  screech  that 
discounted  the  torment  of  a  thousand  tortured  fiddles. 
Now  she  saw  two  men  rapidly  vibrating  long  cross-cut 
saws  back  and  forth  against  the  house,  while  others  drew 
a  rosined  plank  to  and  fro  across  a  log,  concentrating  the 
discords  of  the  world  into  a  single  excruciating  note. 
Closing  her  ears,  she  took  further  note  of  the  score  of  dark 
figures  that  came  and  went  in  the  moonlight,  leaping, 
shouting,  gesticulating  strangely,  as  though  crazed  by 
the  frenzy  of  noise.  Weird,  sinister  shapes,  they  moved, 
massed,  and  melted  to  units  again  as  in  some  mad  carni 
val  or  distorted  madman's  dream. 

The  trustee  pulled  her  skirt.  "Come  away!  They 
might  shoot  at  the  window." 

Obeying,  she  knelt  beside  him — fortunately  with  her 
back  to  the  pane  that,  a  few  minutes  later,  shivered  and 
flew  in  fine  rain.  "Drunk!"  Glaves  commented;  and 
as  a  piercing  cry,  clever  imitation  of  a  cougar,  rang  high 
over  a  slight  lull,  he  said,  "That's  sure  Bill  MacCloud." 
He  grimly  added — for,  besides  being  dissolute,  the  man 
was  a  scoffer  and  leader  against  religion:  "Gosh!  but  the 
saints  are  keeping  queer  company.  Bill  ain't  more'n  a 
mile  'way  from  his  bottle." 

After  that  one  lull  the  tumult  increased  in  loudness 
and  volume,  and  for  a  long  half -hour  Helen  listened  as 
some  soft  maid  of  Rome  may  have  hearkened  to  the  din 
of  Goth  or  ravaging  Hun  in  the  sacred  streets  of  the 
imperial  city.  To  her,  brought  up  under  the  shadow  of 
law,  with  its  material  manifestation — a  policeman — al 
ways  within  call,  the  brutal  elemental  passion  behind  that 
huge,  amorphous  voice  was  very  terrible.  Almost  equally 
fearful  was  the  sudden  cessation  that  set  the  silence 
singing  in  her  ears,  the  voiceless  darkness,  thick  night 
of  that  black  room. 

Touching  the  trustee,  more  for  the  comfort  of  his 

2SS 


THE  SETTLER 

presence  than  to  draw  his  attention,  she  whispered, 
"What  now?" 

Just  then  the  door  rattled  under  a  heavy  kick;  a 
strident  voice  answered  her  question:  "Open,  Glaves, 
an*  send  out  that  —  baggage"  (it  was  a  viler  word) 
"or  we'll  burn  the  house  over  your  ears!" 

"You  will — "  the  trustee  began,  but  was  interrupted 
by  a  wail  from  his  wife  in  the  bedroom. 

"Jimmy!  Oh,  Jimmy,  don't  let  'em  have  her.  They'll 
duck  her  in  the  slough — mebbe  drown  her  like  they  did 
Jenny  Ross  back  in  Huron." 

"Will  you  shet  up!"  he  roared,  but  the  man  outside 
had  heard. 

"You  bet  we  will.     She  needs  a  little  cooling." 

"That's  surely  Mr.  Shinn  that's  talking  so  fierce!" 
the  trustee  taunted.  "Man,  but  you're  gaining  a  heap 
wolfish,  though  it  did  take  you  some  time  to  work  up 
to  the  p'int  of  speech.  Why  didn't  you  take  the  short 
cut  through  Bill's  bottle?"  His  tone  suddenly  altered 
from  banter  to  such  stern  command  that  they  distinctly 
heard  Shinn  shuffle  back  a  step  from  the  door.  "Burn 
this  house?  Get,  or  I'll  blow  the  black  heart  out  of 
you!" 

A  derisive  yell  rose  outside,  then  silence  fell  again,  a 
hush  so  complete  that  Helen  distinctly  heard  the  tick 
of  the  clock,  her  own  breathing,  the  chirrup  of  a  hearth 
cricket.  Pulling  the  trustee's  sleeve,  she  whispered, 
"I've  brought  such  trouble  upon  you!" 

"Rubbish!"  he  snapped.  "Say  that  ag'in  an'  I'll 
spank  you!"  But  he  gently  patted  her  hand. 

A  minute  slid  by  without  further  speech;  a  second, 
third,  fourth,  then  she  whispered,  "Surely  they  must 
have  gone." 

Before  he  could  reply  came  a  rapid  beat  of  running 
feet,  a  splintering  crash,  an  oblong  of  moonlight  flashed 

256 


THE  CHARIVARI 

out  of  the  darkness  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and  quiet 
reigned  again.  Only  the  battering  ram,  a  long  log, 
poked  its  blunt  nose  over  the  doorsill. 

"Stand  clear  there!"  the  trustee  sharply  warned. 
Then,  as  a  dim,  crouched  figure  appeared  between  the 
jambs,  he  shouted,  "Fair  warning!"  and  fired;  but  as 
the  figure  fell  back  and  out,  a  chuckling  laugh  drifted 
through  the  smoke,  Shinn's  coarse  voice  yelled:  "His 
gun's  single  barrel !  In,  afore  he  kin  reload ! ' '  and  a  black, 
surging  mass  trampled  over  the  dummy  and  filled  the 
doorway.  As  aforeseen,  the  conclusion  was  justified — 
the  trustee's  long  gun  was  familiar  as  his  face  in  the 
settlement — and  the  click  of  Danvers'  left  trigger  was 
drowned  by  a  second  harsh  command — ' '  Fair  warning ! ' ' 

The  report,  thunderous,  ear-splitting  in  the  confined 
space,  certified  to  Shinn's  mistake.  His  writhing  mouth, 
Hines's  wintry  visage,  the  press  of  men  in  the  door  showed 
redly  under  the  flash,  then  sulphurous  darkness  wiped  out 
all.  To  Helen,  its  smothering  pall  seemed  to  pulse  with 
thick  life,  to  extend  clutching  fingers,  horrors  that  were 
intensified  by  Mrs.  Glaves's  sudden  burst  of  hysterical 
screaming.  Crouched  behind  Glaves,  she  listened  in 
agony  to  the  swearing,  sharp  oaths,  as  men  tripped  and 
stumbled  over  the  furniture  and  one  another.  There 
was  no  escape.  They  were  feeling  for  her  all  over  the 
room,  and  through  a  sick  horror  she  heard  Shinn's  tri 
umphant  yell — 

"I've  got  her!" 

A  choked  gurgle,  snarl  of  rage,  as  Glaves  fastened  onto 
his  throat,  explained  his  mistake.  "Hell!  has  no  one 
a  match?"  His  strangled  voice  issued  from  a  dark 
whorl,  crash  of  splintering  furniture,  as  they  swung  and 
staggered  in  that  pit  of  gloom.  The  struggle  could  have 
but  one  ending.  Healthy,  Glaves  would  have  been  no 
match  for  Shinn,  and,  as  a  match  scratched,  came  the 

257 


THE  SETTLER 

soft  thud  of  his  body  as  he  was  thrown  with  brutal  force 
against  the  wall. 

Flaring  up,  the  flame  revealed  Helen,  white,  trembling, 
sick  with  that  paralysis  of  fear  that  a  mouse  must  feel 
in  the  claws  of  a  cat.  From  the  bedroom  came  the 
hysterical  whooping,  terrible  in  its  sameness.  Wide- 
eyed,  she  stared,  fascinated,  at  Shinn,  but  he  also  was 
staring  at  a  body  spread  -  eagled  before  the  door,  its 
face  turned  down  in  a  black,  viscid,  spreading  pool.  The 
match  went  out. 

"My  God!"  a  man  cried.     "It's  Hines!" 

But  Helen  did  not  hear  that  or  a  cry  from  outside 
warning  of  approaching  hoofs.  Throughout  the  frenzy 
of  noise,  horror  of  darkness,  suspense,  the  attack,  she 
had  carried  herself  bravely;  but  this  swift  death,  follow 
ing  on  all,  broke  her  shaken  nerves,  deprived  her  of 
consciousness. 

The  trustee,  however,  heard  and  saw  the  house  vomit 
its  black  life,  the  dark  figures  streaming  under  the  moon 
light  out  to  the  bluff  where  the  horses  were  tied,  panic- 
stricken  by  sudden  death  and  uneasy  memories  of  out 
raged  law.  Leaning  in  his  doorway,  bent  and  bruised, 
he  saw  also  Flynn  and  Danvers  thunder  by  with  a 
score  of  remittance-men,  a  wild  cavalcade  hard  on  their 
heels.  In  the  Irishman's  hand  a  neck-yoke  swung  with 
ominous  rattle  of  iron  rings;  Danvers  carried  a  cavalry 
sabre  he  had  snatched  from  his  wall ;  the  others  bran 
dished  clubs.  Looming  an  instant  in  the  steam  of  their 
sweating  beasts,  they  shot  on  with  a  glad  hurrah. 

"Yoicks!  Tally-ho!"  young  Poole  shrilled  as  he 
passed.  "Sic  'em,  Flynn!" 

"A  Flynn!  A  Flynn!"  Danvers  squeaked  as  Shinn 
crumpled  under  the  neck-yoke. 

Wild  lads,  under  wilder  leadership,  they  fought  —  as 
Mrs.  Flynn  had  predicted — none  the  worse  for  a  smell 

258 


THE  CHARIVARI 

at  the  whiskey.  Those  of  the  enemy  who  made  a  slow 
mounting  were  ridden  down,  fell  under  the  clubs,  or 
achieved  uncomfortable  leaps  into  briers  and  scrub,  to 
be  afterwards  caught  and  drubbed,  while  such  as  es 
caped  were  run  down  and  brought  to  bay  by  twos  and 
threes.  In  a  running  fight  over  miles  of  moonlit  prairie 
the  grudges  of  years  were  settled;  jeers,  gibes,  many  a 
cheating  received  payment  in  full,  with  arrears  of  in 
terest.  Thus  Cummings  received  from  Danvers  the 
"boot"  due  on  the  mare  that  Carter  once  described  as 
being  "blind,  spavined,  sweenied,  an'  old  enough  to 
homestead,"  payment  being  slapped  down  upon  the 
spot  where  most  pain  may  be  inflicted  with  least  struct 
ural  damage.  In  like  manner  Poole  settled  with  Peter 
Rodd  for  a  cannibalistic  sow;  Perceval  with  MacCloud, 
arrears  not  due  on  a  quarter-section  of  scrub ;  Gray  with 
Seebach  for  forty  bushels  of  heated  seed  wheat.  Leav 
ing  them  to  their  rough  auditing,  the  story  returns  with 
Flynn  to  the  cabin  after  the  dropping  of  Shinn. 

After  relighting  the  lamp,  Glaves  had  carried  his  sore 
bones  back  to  the  lounge,  and  when  Shinn  entered  he 
found  the  terrible  old  fellow  glowering  upon  the  dead. 
His  wife's  hysteria  had  slackened  to  a  strained  sobbing, 
and,  answering  Flynn's  question,  he  tartly  replied:  "No, 
'tain't  Mrs.  Carter.  Had  her  fainting  -  spell  an'  kem 
to  without  any  fuss,  like  a  sensible  girl.  She's  in  there 
tending  to  that  old  fool."  Then,  beetling  again  on  the 
dead,  he  forecast  the  verdict  of  the  sheriff's  jury.  "  Ye'll 
bear  witness,  Flynn,  that  this  man  kem  to  his  death 
through  running  into  a  charge  of  buckshot  after  my 
winder  'd  been  shot  in  an'  door  battered  down." 


XXIV 

WITHOUT     THE     PALE 

I  REALLY  believe  that  I  ought  to  resign!" 
When,  one  morning  a  week  later,  Helen  delivered 
herself  of  certain   secret  misgivings  at  breakfast,   the 
trustee  looked  up,  startled,  from  his  eggs  and  mush,  then 
proceeded  to  fish  for  motives. 

"Scairt?  You  needn't  to  be.  We've  got  this  settle 
ment  by  the  short  hairs  at  last." 

His  rude  metaphor  roughly  set  forth  the  truth.  With 
out  ties,  the  bachelors  of  the  charivari  party  had  scatter 
ed  west  through  the  territories,  while  Shinn,  MacCloud, 
and  other  married  men  had  gone  into  such  close  hiding 
that  the  sheriff  had  been  unable  to  subpoena  one  for  the 
inquest.  But  though  she  neither  feared  nor  anticipated 
further  violence,  Helen  now  knew  that  she  never  would 
be  able  to  live  down  the  settlers'  prejudice ;  and  without 
the  children's  love,  parents'  confidence,  her  day  of  use 
fulness  was  past. 

Glaves  snorted  at  this  altruistic  reason.  "Love? 
Confidence?  What's  their  market  value?  You  Jcedn't 
hope  to  compete  with  a  dollar  note  for  the  first;  as  for 
the  second —  Danvers  hit  it  off  exactly  when  he  stuck 
that  sign  on  his  stable  door — 'No  more  trading  here!' 
Now,  from  my  p'int  of  view,  it  isn't  a  question  of  love 
or  confidence,  but  one  of  faith." 

"Faith?"  she  echoed. 

260 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE 

Nodding,  he  went  on.  "Me  and  Flynn  backed  you 
up — stood  by  you  through  all,  didn't  we?" 

' '  Indeed  you  did ! ' '  She  grew  rosily  red  under  warmth 
of  feeling.  "I  shall  never — " 

"An*  now  you  allow  to  throw  us  down?  For  Shinn 
and  MacCloud  will  shorely  tell  how  that  they  scared  you 
an'  beat  us  out." 

It  was  bad  argument,  poor  ethics — a  bald  statement  of 
his  grim  intention  of  bending  the  stubborn  settlers  to  his 
inflexible  purpose.  She  felt,  however,  that  it  would  be 
still  poorer  ethics  for  her  to  desert  and  disappoint  these, 
her  champions,  defenders.  It  was  one  of  these  pecul 
iar  situations  where  any  course  seems  wrong,  and  if 
she  chose  that  which  seemed  most  human,  she  did  it 
with  a  mental  reservation.  She  would  resign  just  as 
soon  as  she  could  persuade  him  to  look  at  things  her 
way. 

"Of  course  I'll  stay — to  please  you.     But — " 

"No  'buts,'"  he  interrupted.  "Haying  begins  Mon 
day,  an'  by  fall  it'll  all  be  ol'  hist'ry." 

But  Monday  brought  justification  of  her  doubt,  prov 
ing  that,  if  cowed,  the  settlers  were  by  no  means  con 
quered.  Only  the  young  Flynns  attended  school,  and 
the  array  of  empty  benches  loomed  in  her  troubled 
vision  like  a  huge  face,  vacant,  mulishly  obstinate  as  a 
blank  wall,  vividly  eloquent  of  the  invincible  determina 
tion  that  would  have  none  of  her.  Her  heart  sank,  and 
when  the  week  passed  without  further  attendance  she 
gave  up,  handed  her  resignation  to  Flynn  and  Glaves  in 
council  at  the  latter's  cabin. 

Both,  as  might  be  expected,  registered  strenuous  ob 
jections.  "'Tain't  your  fault  if  they  cut  off  their  nose 
to  spite  their  face,"  Glaves  argued.  And  when  she  re 
plied  that  the  children  would  suffer,  he  rasped:  "What 
of  it?  'The  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  on  the 
is  261 


THE  SETTLER 

children  to  the  fourth  generation/  Ye  have  Scrip ter 
for  that." 

"But  not  the  sin  of  the  stranger,"  she  gently  objected. 
"I  have  myself  to  blame  for  the  prejudice." 

Now,  though  neither  trustee  would  admit  her  confes 
sion,  both  were  afflicted  with  a  sneaking  consciousness  of 
its  truth.  For  not  only  had  she  offended  by  consorting 
with  that  public  enemy,  the  remittance-man,  but  the 
cause  of  Carter's  desertion  had  escaped  from  Elinor 
Leslie's  indiscreet  tongue.  Every  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  the  country-side  was  informed  as  to  the  events 
which  led  up  to  and  followed  the  Ravells'  visit.  Their 
denials,  therefore,  were  negated  by  that  profuseness  of 
expression  which  accentuates  the  truth  it  seeks  to 
conceal. 

"You  know  it,"  she  answered  them,  and  opposed  fur 
ther  argument  with  that  soft  feminine  obstinacy  which 
wears  out  masculine  strength. 

"But  what  else  kin  you  do?"  Glaves  cried  at  last,  in 
despair. 

"Go  to  Winnipeg  and  take  a  place  in  an  office  or 
store." 

Though  she  affected  brightness,  she  could  not  alto 
gether  hide  the  dejection,  homesickness  that  inhered  in 
the  thought.  Now  that  she  was  to  leave  it,  that  rude 
cabin,  with  its  log  walls,  legal  patchwork,  home-made 
furniture,  glowed  with  the  glamours  of  home.  Even 
Mrs.  Glaves's  gaunt  ugliness  became  suddenly  dear  in 
the  light  of  an  indefinite  future  among  strangers. 

Detecting  her  underlying  sadness,  Flynn  exclaimed: 
"Phwat?  Wurrk  in  a  sthore?  Sell  pins,  nay  dies,  an' 
such  truck  while  I've  a  roof  over  me  head  ?  Ye'd  die  in 
thim  lonesome  hotels.  Ye  '11  just  come  right  home  wid 
me." 

"Likely,  ain't  it?"  Glaves  broke  in,  jealous  for  his 

262 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE 

prerogative.  "In  the  first  place,  if  she  goes,  she  ain't 
agoing  to  stop  at  no  hotel,  but  with  my  own  sister  that 
keeps  a  boarding-house  on  Main  Street.  An'  if  she  stays, 
it'll  be  right  here,  with  me — eh,  old  woman?" 

His  wife's  warm  assent  brought  Helen  to  tears  with 
out,  however,  affecting  her  resolution.  For  the  settle 
ment  would  be  by  the  ears,  she  said,  just  as  long  as  she 
stayed  in  it. 

"Humph!"  Glaves  growled.  "It'll  have  itself  be  the 
throat  afore  long.  Yesterday  Poole  an'  Danvers  ran 
their  mowers  into  Shinn's  five-acre  swamp,  an*  if  that 
don't  bring  that  big  Injin  a-kiting  from  the  tall  timber, 
I'm  Dutch." 

She  was  not,  however,  to  be  moved,  and  after  an 
embarrassed  pause  Flynn  said,  hesitatingly:  "Thim 
cities,  now,  is  mighty  ixpinsive.  A  lone  girl  without 
money — ye '11  let  me — " 

Digging  a  shabby  bill-book  from  the  bottom  depths  of 
his  overalls,  he  precipitated  a  second  kindly  quarrel. 
Glaring  at  it,  Glaves  snorted,  "When  she  knows  she  kin 
draw  on  me  for  the  vally  of  my  last  head  of  stock  down 
to  the  dog!" 

Having  means  for  some  months,  this  storm  was  more 
easily  laid  than  that  which  burst  when  Flynn  offered  to 
drive  her  in  to  Lone  Tree. 

"An'  her  living  with  me?"  Glaves  stormed. 

"'Tis  meself  that  knowed  her  longest,"  Flynn  argued. 

"Humph!"  Glaves  sneered— " three  days.  Thursday 
she  stopped  at  your  house  coming  out  from  Lone  Tree. 
Sunday  I  saw  her  at  meeting — went  a-purpose  an'  never 
tended  sence.  No,  she  goes  with  me." 

"Anyway,  I  knowed  her  longest,"  Flynn  persisted. 
"But  'tis  herself  shall  say.  Which  shall  it  be,  ma'am?" 

"Both,"  she  laughed;  and  so,  with  a  grizzled  champion 
on  either  hand,  she  rattled  southward  the  following  day. 

263 


THE  SETTLER 

By  one  of  those  strange  coincidences  of  ironical  fate, 
this,  the  day  of  her  departure,  occurred  on  the  third 
anniversary  of  her  first  drive  out  with  Carter,  and  all 
things,  season,  sight,  sound,  conspired  to  vividly  recall 
that  memorable  occasion.  Rank  growths  in  uncut 
sloughs  bowed  under  warm  winds  that  freighted  a  dis 
tant  metallic  rattle  of  many  mowers;  beyond  the  set 
tlements  the  Park  Lands  stretched  to  the  Assiniboin 
with  only  the  chimneys  of  the  burned  Cree  village  to 
break  their  spangled  undulations.  As  before,  they  came 
suddenly  upon  the  valley,  rugged,  riven,  with  its  bald, 
buttressing  headlands,  timbered  ravines;  the  river, 
writhing  in  giant  convolutions  along  the  level  bottoms. 
As  before,  they  dropped  with  jolts,  jerks,  skidding  of 
wheels  to  the  ford  that  now  tuned  its  hoarse  voice  to 
a  melancholy  dirge  in  harmony  with  her  mood;  and 
from  the  door  of  the  log  mission  Father  Francis  bowed 
his  silver  head  in  courtly  farewell. 

After  the  valley  came  the  "Dry  Lands/'  the  tawny 
plains,  barren  of  trees,  cabin,  or  farmstead;  finally  Lone 
Tree  impinged  in  that  huge  monochrome,  its  grain-sheds 
reminding  her,  as  before,  of  red  Noah's  arks  on  a  yellow 
carpet.  To  her  the  hour  of  departure  restored  the  fresh, 
clear  vision  of  the  stranger.  The  town  appeared  as  on 
that  first  occasion — its  one  scanty  street  of  clapboard 
hotels  and  stores  with  false  fronts  fencing  the  railway 
tracks  that  came  spinning  out  of  the  western  horizon  to 
flash  on  over  the  east;  the  wise  ox-teams  rolling  along 
the  street;  the  squaws  with  ragged  ponies  hitched  in 
big-wheeled  Red  River  carts;  the  cows  pasturing  amid 
tomato-cans  that  strewed  vacant  lots;  the  loafers,  omni 
present  riffraff  of  the  small  frontier,  holding  down  nail- 
kegs  and  cracker-boxes  under  store  verandas. 

It  was  a  trying  drive.  Every  turn  of  the  trail  brought 
its  reminiscences;  mud  chimneys,  the  Indian  graveyard, 

264 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE 

a  lone  coyote,  recalled  the  beginnings  of  her  love,  and 
now  that  she  was  leaving  she  vividly  realized  how  she 
had  grown  to  this  land  of  white  silences,  grave  winds, 
vast,  sunwashed  spaces.  But  if  she  had  need  of  the  heavy 
veil  that  she  pinned  on  that  morning,  that  marvellous 
feminine  restraint  enabled  her  to  turn  a  composed  face 
to  the  doctor  and  Jenny,  who  came  to  the  station  to  see 
her  off. 

As  she  passed  up  street,  the  riffraff  exchanged  nods 
and  winks,  but  Lone  Tree  furnished  still  other  cham 
pions.  The  store-keeper,  he  who  had  loaded  Carter's 
buck-board  with  jams  and  jellies,  came  hurrying  across 
the  tracks  with  good  wishes  and  protestations. 

"Shinn,  MacCloud,  Cummings — the  hull  gang — go  off 
my  books,"  he  swore  to  Glaves.  "Not  another  cent's 
credit  to  keep  'em  from  starving." 

"They  can  rot  in  their  beds  for  me,"  the  doctor  added. 
"I  strike  Silver  Creek  from  my  practice."  And  though 
the  train  was  even  then  whistling  for  the  station,  Hooper, 
the  agent,  stole  time  for  friendly  greetings. 

If  roughly  expressed,  their  sympathy  was  at  least 
genuine;  it  eased  the  parting  so  that  she  was  able  to  lean 
out  and  give  them  a  last  smile  as  the  train  rolled  by  the 
water-tank  with  long,  easy  clickings,  carrying  her  away 
beyond  their  tough  pale.  Good  enough  as  a  farewell, 
it  was  not,  however,  a  success  as  a  smile,  and  the  woe 
behind  its  wanness  formed  the  subject  of  an  indignant 
caucus  that  convened  as  soon  as  Jenny  left  the  plat 
form. 

"I  can't  figure  out  jes'  what  Carter  means,"  the  store 
keeper  fretfully  exclaimed.  ' '  Granted  that  she  thro  wed 
him  that  onct — the  charivari? — that  business  at  the 
revival  ?  If  it  had  been  my  wife,  I'd  been  smelling  round 
for—" 

"Blood!"  the  agent  interjected;  and  though  he  had  in- 
265 


THE  SETTLER 

tended  "  trouble, "  the  store-keeper  accepted  the  amend 
ment. 

"What's  the  man  looking  for?"  the  doctor  roared. 
"She  has  beauty,  amiability,  intelligence,  almost  every 
quality  that  a  man  can  desire  in  a  wife,  yet  he  goes  off 
in  a  pout  because  she  falls  short  of  the  angels.  He's  a 
damned  fool.  He  ought  to  be — " 

"Aisy,  aisy  wid  ye."  Flynn  stemmed  the  tide  of 
wrath.  "'Tis  no  throuble  at  all  to  condimn  whin  a 
purty  girl's  at  t'other  ind  of  the  argymint.  She's  sweet, 
an'  I'll  break  the  face  av  the  man  as  says  she  isn't  good. 
But — give  the  man  toime.  Let  be  till  we  know  that  he's 
heard  av  the  rhuctions.  Thin,  if  he  does  nothing — " 

' '  Well , "  the  doctor  interrupted ,  "  he  '11  hear,  all  right — 
from  me,  this  very  night." 

"Me,  too,"  the  store-keeper  added. 

"An'  don't  forget  to  give  him  partickler  h — 1!"  the 
agent  called  after  as  they  strolled  away. 

Nor  did  they.  Dipping  his  pen  in  scorn,  the  doctor 
opened  his  epistle  with  a  timely  question  as  to  the  exact 
number  and  kinds  of  fool  that  Carter  considered  him 
self,  and  finished  with  a  spirit  that  transcended  even 
Glaves's  difficult  requirements.  Equally  thorough  in  his 
beginnings,  a  rush  of  business  prevented  the  store-keeper 
from  making  an  end  that  evening;  but  his  default  had 
its  advantages  in  that  he  was  thus  enabled  to  deliver  the 
remainder,  viva  voce,  to  Carter  himself,  when  he  stepped 
off  the  train  next  morning.  Served  hot,  with  good  fron 
tier  adjectives  sizzling  among  the  nouns  and  articles,  his 
opinion  gained  the  admiring  attention  of  Hooper,  the 
agent,  who  stood  ready  to  offer  advice  and  assistance. 

For  his  part,  Carter  listened  quietly  until  the  store 
keeper  paused  for  breath.  Then  he  turned  to  the  agent. 
"If  you'd  like  five  minutes  with  my  character  and  attain 
ments,  don't  be  bashful !  I ' ve  got  it  coming.  After  that 

266 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE 

please  oblige  with  a  little  information  on  this  charivari  ? 
I  only  heard  yesterday  morning  of  that  revival  through 
Bender's  coming  into  camp." 

As  he  listened,  his  natural  sternness  deepened  to  dark 
austerity,  then  fluxed  in  sad  pity  as  the  store-keeper  told 
of  Helen's  departure.  Murmuring  "Poor  thing! — poor 
little  thing!"  he  asked  for  her  address. 

His  face  fell  when  the  store-keeper  answered :  "You'll 
have  to  go  to  Glaves  for  that.  The  doc'  might  have  it, 
but  him  an'  Miss  Jenny  went  north  this  morning  to  settle 
up  her  father's  affairs."  Noting  Carter's  disappointment, 
he  kindly  added:  "You  kin  drive  my  sorrels.  They're  a 
third  faster  than  the  livery  teams.  On'y,  remember 
they're  fresh  off  the  grass." 

"I'll  try  not  to  misuse  them,"  Carter  answered,  bright 
ening,  a  remark  that  plentifully  illustrates  his  impatient 
feeling. 

Agent  and  store-keeper  helped  him  hitch;  and  as  he 
headed  the  sorrels  out  on  the  Silver  Creek  trail — the  trail 
that  for  him,  as  for  Helen,  was  one  long  heartache — the 
agent  drew  a  deduction  from  his  sombre  sternness. 

"I  heard  that  MacCloud  an'  Cummings  were  back. 
Je-hosh-a-phat !  There'll  be  something  doing  if  they 
cross  his  track." 

Stepping  out  of  his  stable,  after  feeding  the  noon  oats 
next  day,  Glaves  "lifted  up  his  eyes,"  in  biblical  phrase, 
and  saw  Carter  "a  long  way  off."  A  hot  morning  at  the 
hay,  and  the  loss  of  two  sections  of  his  mower-sickle  by 
impact  with  a  willow  snag,  did  not  tend  to  alleviate  his 
natural  crustiness.  As  he  recognized  the  tall  figure  be 
hind  the  sorrels,  the  hoar  of  his  fifty  winters  seemed  to 
settle  in  the  lines  of  his  weathered  visage;  his  eye  took 
the  steely  sparkle  of  river  ice;  his  nod,  when  Carter 
reined  in  opposite,  was  curt  as  his  answer. 

267 


THE  SETTLER 

"Your  wife's  address?     Yes,  I  know  it." 

Forewarned  by  the  store-keeper  of  the  old  man's  bit 
terness,  Carter  was  not  surprised.  "Meaning  that  you 
won't  give  it  to  me?" 

"Not  till  I  know  as  she  wants  you  to  have  it." 

Tone  and  manner  were  superlatively  irritating,  but  the 
man  had  taken  blood  on  his  soul  in  Helen's  defence,  and 
Carter  spoke  quietly.  "Don't  you  allow  that  she's  a 
right  to  decide  for  herself?" 

"Now,  ain't  that  exac'ly  what  I  said?" 

It  was  not,  but  contradiction  would  merely  inflame 
his  obstinacy.  At  a  loss  how  to  proceed,  Carter  switched 
the  heads,  one  by  one,  from  a  patch  of  tall  brown  pig 
weeds,  using  his  left  hand,  for  the  right  was  roughly  tied 
up  in  his  handkerchief.  On  his  part  Glaves  looked 
steadily  past  him. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  —  sensuous,  soft,  one  of  the 
golden  days  when  warm  winds  flirt  among  rustling 
grasses  breathing  the  incense  of  smiling  flowers.  Heat 
hung  in  quivering  waves  along  the  horizon  like  an  emana 
tion  from  the  hot,  prolific  earth  over  whose  bosom  birds, 
bumblebees,  the  little  beasts  of  the  prairies,  came  and 
went  on  errands  of  love  and  business  with  songs  and 
twitterings.-  And  there,  in  the  midst  of  this  joy  of  life, 
the  grim  old  man  bent  frowning  brows  on  Carter,  who 
was  lost  in  bitter  meditation. 

He  was  laboring  under  an  unhappy  sense  of  error,  for 
his  contumacy,  determined  absence,  was  not  altogether 
a  product  of  hurt  pride.  As  he  himself  had  dissolved 
their  relations,  it  was  Helen's  privilege  to  renew  them, 
and  he  had  waited,  yearning  for  her  word.  But  now 
that  he  was  dragged  under  the  harrows  of  remorse,  in  an 
agony  of  pity  for  her,  he  stood  before  Glaves  as  in  the 
presence  of  Nemesis,  convicted  of  a  huge  mistake. 

The  initiative,  after  all,  had  lain  with  him.  If  he  had 

268 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE 

owned  to  his  fault,  had  apologized  for  his  summary 
desertion,  she  could  have  been  trusted  to  do  the  rest. 
Now  he  doubted  that  he  was  too  late,  for  it  was  but 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  trustee's  determined  op 
position  had  origin  with  her.  He  squared  his  big  shoul 
ders  to  this  burden  of  his  own  packing. 

"Will  you  forward  a  letter?" 

Frowning,  Glaves  answered  without  looking  at  him, 
"You  kin  leave  your  address." 

"But  you  will  forward  it?" 

"If  she  wants  it." 

Carter  flushed,  but  checked  a  sharp  answer.  "You 
ain't  extending  too  much  grace  to  a  sinner." 

"Any  less  than  you  extended  her?  What  d'  you  ex 
pect  of  me  that  saw  her  name  dragged  in  the  mud,  her 
self  insulted — that  took  a  life  to  save  her  body  from 
violence?  G — d  d —  you!  His  pent-up  feelings  ex 
ploded,  and  for  three  minutes  thereafter  hot  speech 
bubbled  like  vitriol  through  his  clinched  teeth  in  scath 
ing  denunciation  of  Carter's  remissness. 

"  Part  of  what  you  say  being  true,  we'll  pass  the  rest," 
the  latter  said,  when  the  trustee  had  drained  his  phials  of 
wrath.  "Now — without  conceding  your  right  to  with 
hold  her  address — will  you  forward  some  money?" 

Glaves  stared.  He  had  expected  a  blow,  a  violent 
quarrel,  at  least;  nay,  had  lusted  for  it.  But  he  was  too 
much  of  a  man  himself  to  mistake  a  just  imperturbability 
for  fear,  while  the  mention  of  money  checked  his  anger 
by  switching  his  ideas.  Jealous  for  her  honor,  he  looked 
his  suspicion.  "Whose  money?"  But  if  accent  and 
tone  declared  against  the  acceptance  of  favors,  he  took 
the  proffered  greenbacks  after  Carter  explained  that 
they  covered  her  share  of  the  cattle  he  and  Morrill  had 
owned  in  common — took  them,  that  is,  with  a  proviso. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  mused,  counting  five  of  ten  bills  of 
269 


THE  SETTLER 

one-hundred-dollar  denomination.  "You'd  forty  head 
of  stock  when  Morrill  died.  Five  hundred  covers  her 
share.  Take  these  back."  And  to  further  argument 
he  sternly  answered,  "I  don't  allow  that  she's  looking 
for  any  presents  from  you." 

"No,  I  don't  allow  that  she  is." 

Sadness  of  look  and  tone  caused  Glaves  to  glance  up 
quickly,  but  he  did  not  relax  in  his  grimness  up  to  the 
moment  that,  having  left  his  address,  Carter  drove  away. 
Then  a  shade  of  doubt  crept  into  his  steel  eyes.  "If  it 
had  been  myself — "  he  muttered;  then  as  Helen's  parting 
smile  recurred  in  memory,  he  added:  "No,  damn  him! 
Let  him  suffer!"  But  this  was  not  the  end.  Pausing 
in  his  doorway  as  he  went  in  to  dinner,  he  saw  the  buck- 
board,  small  as  a  fly,  crawl  over  a  distant  knoll,  and  by 
some  association  of  ideas  remembered  Carter's  hand  and 
wondered  why  it  was  bandaged.  And  when  he  learned 
from  Poole  and  Danvers,  who  called  round  for  their  mail 
that  evening,  his  first  small  doubt  was  raised  almost  to 
the  dimension  of  regret. 

Since  the  charivari,  Glaves's  opinion  of  the  remittance- 
man — as  a  fighting  animal,  at  least — had  risen  above 
zero,  and  he  lent  first  an  indulgent,  then  a  rapt  ear  to  the 
boys'  story.  As  he  himself  had  prophesied,  the  piracy 
of  the  five-acre  swamp  brought  Shinn  out  from  his  hid 
ing,  but  the  latter 's  evil  fate  arranged  matters  so  that  as 
he  descended  upon  the  remittance  buccaneers  from  one 
end  of  the  swamp,  Carter  appeared  on  the  Lone  Tree  trail 
which  cat-a-cornered  the  other.  The  result  bubbled 
forth  from  the  mouth  of  first  one  boy,  then  the  other,  in 
eager  interruptions. 

"Shade  of  my  granny!"  Danvers  swore.  "You  never 
saw  such  a  fight!" 

"No  preliminaries,"  Poole  declared.  "  Carter  just  leaped 
from  his  buggy  and  went  for  him  like  a  cat  after  a  mouse. " 

270 


WITHOUT  THE  PALE 

"Shinn  fought  like  a  trapped  wolf — f> 

"And  little  good  it  did  him.  He  might  have  been  a 
gopher  in  the  paws  of  a  grizzly." 

"Lay  like  a  dead  man  for  a  long  half -hour — " 

"And  looked  like  a  snake  that  had  mixed  with  a  streak 
of  lightning." 

"Blind,  battered,  bruised,  we  carried  him  home  on  his 
shield — that  is,  on  our  hay-rake — " 

"And  that  poor  squalid  wife  of  his  looked  rather  dis 
gusted  when  she  found  that  he  wasn't  dead." 

While  they  thus  poured  the  tale  of  Shinn's  discomfiture 
into  Glaves's  thirsty  ears,  Carter  rattled  steadily  on 
towards  Lone  Tree.  Passing  Flynn's,  he  had  been  tempt 
ed  to  put  in,  but  remembered  that  the  Irishman  would 
be  out  at  the  hay,  and  so  ran  on  and  by  the  one  person 
who  could  have  furnished  an  approximation  of  Helen's 
address.  For  she  had  merely  promised  to  write  Jenny 
as  soon  as  she  was  settled,  as  he  had  learned  when  he  met 
the  doctor,  back- trailing  alone,  early  that  morning. 

"But  you'll  surely  find  her  at  one  of  the  hotels!"  the 
agent  called  to  him,  on  the  platform  of  the  freight-train 
that  carried  him  away  at  midnight. 

But  Helen  had  gone  straight  to  the  trustee's  sister. 
And  having  wasted  two  days  scanning  hotel  registers, 
wandering  the  streets,  he  concluded  that  perhaps  she  had 
changed  her  mind  and  gone  straight  through  to  her 
friends  back  East.  Charging  his  friends  and  financial 
backers  to  keep  on  with  the  search,  however,  he  returned 
to  his  labors  in  that  unenviable  condition  of  mind  which 
romanticist  writers  describe  as  "broken-hearted." 

In  a  city  of  twenty  thousand  it  ought  not  to  be  so  very 
difficult  to  locate  a  young  lady  whose  style  and  beauty 
drew  the  eyes  of  the  street.  But  if  the  search  failed,  the 
cause  inhered  in  other  reasons  than  lack  of  diligence — 
in  a  reason  that  largely  accounted  for  Glaves's  reluctance 

271 


THE  SETTLER 

to  give  her  address.  Sick  at  heart,  hopeless  for  the 
future,  she  had  sunk  her  surname  with  the  bitter  past; 
resumed  her  maiden  name  while  keeping  the  married 
title.  Even  with  Glaves's  sister,  a  big,  good-natured 
woman,  she  passed  as  a  widow. 


XXV 

THE    SUNKEN    GRADE 

THE  "Ragged  Lands!"  Seamed,  rugged,  broken, 
gloomy  with  dark  spruce,  sterile  as  a  barren  woman, 
they  cumber  the  earth  from  Lake  Nipissing  a  thousand 
miles  westward  to  the  edge  of  the  prairies,  and  in  all 
their  weary  length  no  stretch  of  meadow-land  occurs. 
Pock-marked  with  sloughs,  muskegs,  black  morasses, 
peppered  with  sand-hills  that  rise  suddenly  like  eruptive 
boils  in  the  sparse  beard  of  its  dwarf -growths,  it  is  a 
wicked  country,  and  was  held  accursed  by  trappers  and 
Jesuit  fathers  who,  of  old,  portaged  or  paddled  upon  its 
borders.  Yet  in  construction  days  men  poured  into  its 
dark  environs;  one  may  still  see  Carter's  camps,  moss- 
grown,  roofless,  rotting  by  the  right  of  way,  for  his  line 
split  a  fifty-mile  breadth  from  the  western  verge  of  that 
mighty  forest. 

On  the  day  after  Carter's  return  from  Winnipeg  the 
westering  sun  gilded  a  long  scar,  brown  with  the  sere  of 
felled  trees,  that  shore  thirty  miles  of  forest.  Ten  more 
miles  and  this,  his  right  of  way,  would  debouch  on  the 
Park  Lands,  a  day's  drive  southward  from  Silver  Creek; 
at  its  other  end  fifty  miles  of  prairie  grading  would  carry 
it  down  to  the  American  border.  Northerly,  the  cut  was 
masked  in  rolling  smoke  of  burning  brush;  but  where, 
farther  south,  the  spruce  mantle  had  been  torn  from  the 
bosom  of  mother  earth,  it  gaped  yellow  as  a  gangrened 
wound.  Over  this  earth-sore  men  and  teams  swarmed 

273 


THE  SETTLER 

with  the  buzz  and  movement  of  flies,  coming  and  going 
about  a  steam-digger  that  bit  hungry  mouthfuls  from  the 
bowels  of  a  sand-hill  and  spat  them,  with  hoarse  cough 
ing,  upon  a  train  of  flat-cars.  Beyond  them  a  pile-driver 
sputtered  nervously  upon  a  lean  trestle ;  and  still  farther 
south  a  track  gang  laid  and  spiked  rails  with  furious 
energy,  adding  their  quota  of  noise  to  the  roar  that  com 
bined  with  heat  and  dust  to  'produce  a  miniature  inferno. 

Dipping  still  lower,  the  sun  poked  a  golden  finger 
down  a  thin  survey-line  that  slit  the  forest  at  the  head 
of  the  right  of  way,  and  touched  into  flame  the  yellow 
head  of  a  young  man  who  sat  on  a  log  near  Carter. 
There  slim  poplar-brake  enclosed  a  mossy  dell,  into 
which  the  frenzy  of  work  and  noise  came  faintly  as  the 
hum  of  a  passing  bee.  It  was,  indeed,  so  cool  and  pleas 
ant  that  the  surveyor  shrugged  unwillingly  when  the 
advancing  shadows  emphasized  Carter's  remark  that  it 
was  "time  to  be  moving." 

' '  What  a  demon  of  unrest ! "  he  laughed.  ' '  Can't  keep 
still  for  five  minutes." 

His  mock  disgust  drew  Carter's  smile.  "That's  all 
very  well — for  you.  When  your  transit  is  cased,  you're 
done.  I  have  a  few  hundred  men  to  look  after." 

"Oh,  confound  them!"  the  other  said.  "I'll  never 
make  a  philosopher  of  you."  And  as,  shouldering  his 
transit,  he  followed,  he  commented  humorously  on  Car 
ter's  tiresome  energy,  affirming  that  he  was  reminded 
of  a  steam-engine  that  had  slipped  its  governors. 
"Couldn't  be  more  grovellingly  industrious  if  you  were 
qualifying  for  a  headline  on  a  child's  copy-book.  Early 
to  bed,  early  to  rise,  makes  your  boss  healthy,,  wealthy , 
and  wise,"  he  misquoted.  And  as,  a  few  minutes  later, 
they  came  out  upon  wood-choppers  who  were  driving 
the  right  of  way  into  the  forest,  he  grimaced,  "More 
misguided  zeal." 

274 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

For  all  his  sarcasm,  his  eyes  betrayed  his  appreciation, 
and  as,  pausing,  they  looked  on,  his  face  lit  up  with  pro 
fessional  pride.  Following  the  choppers,  sawyers  were 
cutting  sizable  timber  into  logs,  piling  small  trees  with 
the  brush;  behind  them  a  stumping  outfit  practised 
rough  dentistry  upon  the  road-bed.  All  were  putting 
in  the  last  "licks "  of  a  good  day's  work;  the  air  whistled 
of  falling  trees,  hummed  to  the  ringing  saws;  the  woods 
echoed  laughter,  shouts,  cheery  curses. 

"Good  boys,"  Carter  murmured.  "Regular  whales. 
Jest  eat  it  up,  don't  they?" 

"Peculiar  idiosyncrasy."  The  surveyor  resumed  his 
chaffing.  "They  ought  to  have  eased  up  while  you  were 
away.  Can't  account  for  it,  unless — yes,  it's  beans! 
Beans,  sir!  You  feed  them  beans  and  they  work  or — 
die.  Query:  What  effect  would  a  bean  diet  have  on  a 
philosopher?  Ugh!  I  must  avoid  them." 

"No  " — Carter  indicated  a  figure,  gigantic  in  the  loom 
of  the  smoke,  "it's  not  beans;  it's  Bender.  Without 
him  we'd  have  plenty  converts  to  your  theory." 

"And  now  tired  nature  pities  them." 

In  their  coincidence,  the  last  red  ray  might  have  sig 
nalled  Bender's  shrill  whistle,  or  vice  versa.  Anyway, 
sudden  silence  fell  like  a  mantle  over  the  clearing. 
While  choppers  and  sawyers  cached  tools  under  brush 
away  from  rusting  dews,  teamsters  dropped  bows  and 
yokes,  and  all  followed  the  patient  ox- teams  down  the 
right  of  way. 

"Joking  aside,"  the  surveyor  said,  as  they  fell  in  be 
hind,  "what  has  life  for  these  fellows?  Ill-fed,  worse 
clothed,  only  an  occasional  spree  breaks  the  monotony 
of  grinding  toil." 

Carter's  nod  was  non-committal.  ' '  They  work  hard — 
yes,  but  then  work  is  only  terrible  to  the  young  and  shift 
less;  your  grown  man  loves  it." 

275 


THE  SETTLER 

"If  congenial." 

' '  Generally  is .  You  see ,  there 's  always  something  that 
a  fellow  thinks  he  can  do  a  bit  better  than  any  one  else — 
Bill,  there,  planes  his  stumps;  Ole,  that  big  Swede,  is 
chain  lightning  on  a  cant-hook;  Michigan  Red  rides  a 
log  down  a  rapid  like  a  ballet-dancer,  and  has  Jehu  beat 
out  on  the  reins;  Big  Hans  lifts  more'n  any  other  man 
in  camp.  Summing  it,  from  whip-cracking  to  stable- 
cleaning  every  job  has  its  professor,  who  gets  a  heap  of 
fun  out  of  proving  his  title.  Looking  a  bit  closer,  these 
chaps  get  more  sunshine,  fresh  air,  and  sleep  than  your 
city  workers,  and  if  the  grub  is  rough  they  ain't  bothered 
none  with  indigestion.  Hans  finds  a  flavor  in  his  beans 
that  your  big  financial  gun  doesn't  get  out  of  his  canvas- 
back.  As  for  amusement,  the  regular  lumber- jack  does 
blow  a  year's  salary  on  a  week's  bust,  as  you  say;  but 
most  of  these  are  farmers,  some  of  'em  neighbors  of  mine. 
If  they're  rushed  in  summer  they  have  time  to  burn  in 
winter,  and  what  of  socials,  dances,  picnics,  they  strike  a 
fair  balance  with  pleasure." 

"But  what  is  ahead  of  them?" 

Carter  shrugged.  "Death,  of  course;  in  the  mean 
time,  hard  work,  harder  living,  a  family,  and  a  mortgage 
to  keep  'em  from  oversleep.  But  they'll  breathe  clean 
and  live  clean,  work  in  the  sun  and  outlive  two  genera 
tions  of  city  people.  Barring  accidents,  they'll  average 
fourscore  years,  and  so,  when  the  last  word  is  said,  I 
don't  know  but  that  happiness  lies  down  instead  of  up 
the  ladder." 

The  surveyor  curiously  studied  his  thoughtful  face. 
"You  are  climbing?" 

But  Carter  was  equal  to  the  contradiction.  ' '  We  was 
talking  of  averages — " 

"  Were,"  the  other  interrupted. 

Grimacing,  Carter  repeated:  "Were  talking  of  averages. 

276 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

The  exception  gets  his  fun  climbing,  and  don't  find  out 
how  much  of  a  fool  he  is  till  he  looks  down  from  the 
top." 

"Doesn't"  the  other  put  in,  and  Carter  resaid  the 
word. 

The  corrections  sprang  from  a  compact  that  was  now 
as  old  as  their  acquaintance.  A  graduate  in  engineering, 
the  young  fellow  was  widely  read  and  cultured  far  beyond 
the  needs  of  his  profession,  and  as  they  talked,  smoking, 
in  their  office-tent  of  evenings,  his  allusions  to  and  illus 
trations  from  the  realms  of  science,  literature,  art  had 
given  Carter  glimpses  of  Helen's  world,  a  universe  in 
which  touch,  taste,  smell,  sight,  and  other  things  gave 
place  to  feeling,  memory,  perception.  And  so  he  had 
been  stimulated  to  conscious  attempts  at  improvement. 

"I  feel  like  a  two-year-old!"  he  had  exclaimed  one 
evening  early  in  their  acquaintance.  "I'd  like  to  know 
more  of  that.  D'  you  suppose  I  could  get  that  book  in 
town  ?  An'  say,  if  you  catch  me  straddling  the  traces — 
manners,  speech,  an'  so  forth — I  wish  you'd  lam  me  one. 
Of  course  I'm  pretty  set,  but  if  I  could  just  tone  down  a 
bit  on  a  few  of  the  big  things,  the  little  ones  might  slip 
by  unnoticed." 

In  the  nature  of  things  a  construction-camp  is  bound 
to  suffer  a  chronic  drouth  of  news,  and  in  default  of  other 
subjects  Carter's  marital  troubles  had  received  exhaust 
ive  and  analytical  treatment  at  the  hands  of  the  Silver 
Creek  men  and  others.  Filtering  through  many  strata, 
enough  of  the  gossip  had  reached  the  surveyor  to  inform 
him  of  the  motive  under  this  rough  appeal,  and  he  readily 
consented.  So,  in  their  talks  thereafter,  he  had  trimmed 
out  the  wilder  growths  of  Carter's  speech,  giving  rule  and 
reason,  for,  as  he  laughingly  assured  him,  his  big  pupil 
had  an  uncanny  appetite  for  underlying  law. 

"Now  'tain't  reasonable  to  suppose  that  you  have  to 

19  277 


THE  SETTLER 

learn  all  the  individual  cases,"  he  would  say,  when  the 
surveyor  tripped  him  on  some  expression;  "what's  the 
law  of  it  ?"  And  he  would  offer  humorous  opinions  on  the 
eccentricities  of  the  tongue.  "The  darn  language  seems 
to  have  grown  from  wild  seed,  an'  though  Lindley  Mur 
ray — ain't  that  his  name  ? — lopped  a  bit  here  an'  pruned 
a  bit  there,  he  couldn't  straighten  the  knarls  and  twists 
in  the  trunks.  >  An'  I  don't  know  but  that  it's  as  well 
that  way  Leave  them  grammarians  alone,  an*  they'd 
clip  an'  trim  the  language  till  it  was  tame  as  the  cypress 
hedges  that  my  old  aunt  uster  shape  into  crowing  roosters, 
gillypots,  an'  pilaster  pillars  at  home  back  East."  In 
saying  which  he  touched  a  profound  etymological  truth 
that  is  altogether  ignored  by  the  scientific  inventors  of 
universal  languages. 

One  who  had  not  seen  him  for  some  months — Helen, 
for  instance — could  not  have  failed,  this  evening,  to 
notice  how  his  faithful  delving  in  that  wild  orchard  had 
begun  to  bring  forth  fruit  in  his  speech.  Evincing  fewer 
"aint's,"  it  had  more  "ings,"  and  even  attained,  on  oc 
casion,  to  correct  usage  in  "number"  of  verbs.  Equally 
forcible,  as  full  of  curt  figures,  its  epigrammatic  quality 
had  gained  rather  than  lost  by  better  expression. 

The  silence  which  had  fallen  between  them  endured 
till  they  came  in  sight  of  the  camp,  a  string  of  tents  and 
log-cabins  under  the  eaves  of  the  forest.  Then  the  sur 
veyor  pointed  out  a  girl  who  was  watching  the  tired 
stream  from  the  door  of  the  nearest  tent. 

"Why,  there's  Dorothy!  She  threatened  to  make  the 
chief  bring  her  down,  but  I  didn't  think  she'd  make  it. 
Come  along  and  I'll  introduce  you." 

As,  however,  he  mended  his  pace,  Carter  fell  behind, 
and  the  sadness  which  had  become  habitual  to  his  face 
deepened.  He  had  heard  the  young  fellow  speak  of  this 
girl,  his  fiancee;  and  though  in  color  and  appearance  she 

278 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

was  the  opposite  of  Helen,  the  swish  of  her  skirts  as  she 
came  to  meet  them,  suggestion  of  perfume,  the  hundred 
elusive  delicacies  that  make  up  a  well-bred  girl's  per 
sonality,  recalled  his  wife  and  oppressed  him  with  a 
vivid  sense  of  loss. 

Her  voice,  rich  and  low  in  its  tones  as  Helen's,  strength 
ened  the  impression.  "Dad  said  'No,'"  she  laughed, 
after  the  introduction.  "But — •" 

"Wilful  woman  will  have  her  way,"  a  voice  declared 
from  the  interior  of  the  tent ;  then  the  chief  engineer,  a 
hale  man  of  fifty,  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "Mosqui 
toes,  alkali  water,  nothing  would  scare  her."  He  was 
going  on  with  inquiries  of  the  health  of  a  bridge  that  had 
developed  rheumatic  tendencies  in  its  feet,  when  she 
laughingly  interrupted : 

"Come,  dad,  no  business  till  after  supper.  I  have 
already  scraped  acquaintance  with  the  cook,  and  he  says 
we  are  to  come  at  once.  So  run  along,  little  boys,  and 
get  ready." 

"Wash  our  dirty  faces,  to  put  it  plainly,"  the  surveyor 
echoed  her  happy  laugh.  "Be  it  known  unto  you,  fair 
lady,  that  ablutions  are  held  to  be  effeminate,  unneces 
sary,  if  not  immoral,  in  construction  work.  However, 
in  view  of  your  hypersensitiveness,  we  will  do  violence 
to  our  inclinations.  Come  on,  Carter — we  for  the  tub." 

But  from  a  dozen  yards  she  called  him  back.  "This 
is  the  man  you  wrote  me  of?  I  knew  him  at  once. 
What  a  splendid  fellow!" 

"Gorgeous!"  he  returned  her  whisper.  "His  wife 
must  be  a  queer  sort." 

"Not  necessarily."  She  added,  with  thoughtful  intui 
tion:  "The  possibilities  are  so  many.  Your  friend  is 
handsome  and  has  a  good  face,  but  we  girls  are  more 
complex  than  our  mothers.  While  they  were  satisfied 
with  good  temper  and  good  provision,  we  demand  sym- 

279 


THE  SETTLER 

pathy  of  taste  and  habit;  that  we  touch  without  friction 
at  a  hundred  points  of  contact.  Tall  as  Mr.  Carter  is, 
he  may  fall  short  of  such  a  standard." 

Bending,  her  lover  gazed  admiringly  into  her  earnest 
eyes.  "Such  a  little  wisehead!  And  did  I  pass  in  this 
difficult  examination  ?" 

Carter's  back  was  turned,  the  cook-house  door  had 
just  closed  on  the  last  teamster,  her  father  had  gone  back 
to  his  calculations,  so  her  answer  was  sweet  as  satis 
factory. 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  the  four  entered  the  cook 
house,  two  cookees  were  laying  the  table  under  one  eagle 
eye  of  the  cook,  the  other  being  on  a  roast  that  he  was 
liberally  basting.  "Hain't  you  got  no  nose?"  he  an 
swered  Carter's  question;  but  he  smiled  as,  sniffing  its 
rich  odor,  Dorothy  said:  "It's  venison!  And  I'm  so 
hungry!" 

"Sure!"  he  corroborated.  "Cree  hunter  brought  in  a 
quarter  of  moose  this  afternoon." 

Pleased  with  her  discernment,  he  seated  her  at  the 
head  of  a  table  which  he  himself  had  scoured  with  sand 
to  a  snowy  whiteness  while  the  cookees  were  grinding  a 
summer's  tarnish  from  iron  knives  and  spoons.  Her  tin 
plate  reflected  a  smile  that  he  would  willingly  have  paid 
for  in  turkey  and  truffles,  but  lacking  these,  he  served 
baked  potatoes  with  the  venison,  hot  biscuit,  cake  a 
hand's-breadth  thick,  and  with  a  flourish  set  the  crown 
ing  delicacy  of  camp  life,  a  can  of  condensed  cream,  be 
side  her  tin  coffee-cup.  Then  he  packed  the  cookees 
outside  to  peel  the  morrow's  potatoes  that  her  appetite 
might  not  suffer  from  their  admiring  glances,  an  act 
which  they  classified  as  tyranny  and  ascribed  to  evil 
motives. 

"She's  a  right  smart  gal,"  he  added,  after  imparting  a 
few  privacies  anent  their  birth  and  breeding  from  the 

280 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

door-step.  "None  o'  your  picking  sort.  Knows  good 
cooking  when  she  sees  it,  she  does."  Then  he  left  them 
to  digest  a  last  piece  of  information  that  the  evolution 
of  their  ancestors  had  been  arrested  in  a  low  and  bestial 
stage. 

That  supper  figured  as  an  epoch  in  Carter's  life,  be 
cause  it  marked  a  definite  conscious  change  in  his  feeling 
towards  his  wife.  With  all  men  thought  is  more  or  less 
chaotic.  Filtering  slowly  from  feeling  under  pressure  of 
experience,  it  remains  fluid,  turgid,  until  some  specific  act 
— it  may  be  of  a  very  ordinary  nature — clears  and  precip 
itates  it  into  the  moulds  of  fixed  opinion.  So,  though 
material  of  a  sounder,  more  reasonable  judgment  of 
Helen  had  been  gathering  in  his  mind  these  months, 
injured  pride  had  held  it  in  abeyance — in  suspension,  as 
it  were — until  now  that  recent  disappointment  had  left 
him  peculiarly  susceptible  to  impression,  a  resolvent  was 
added ;  that  occurred  which  precipitated  his  thought. 

It  took  form  in  Michigan  Red,  who  entered  with 
another  teamster  and  sat  down  at  the  opposite  table. 
The  task  that  delayed  them  had  sharpened  appetite,  and 
their  attack  on  the  food  the  cook  set  before  them  was 
positively  wolfish.  Using  fingers  as  much  or  more  than 
forks,  they  shovelled  greasy  beans  into  their  mouths  with 
knives,  as  stokers  feed  a  furnace;  and  as  they  bolted 
masses  of  pork,  washed  whole  biscuits  down  with  gulps 
of  coffee,  Carter's  glance  wandered  between  them  and 
the  delicate  girl  at  his  side.  Here,  indeed,  was  one  of 
the  "points  of  contact"  of  her  intuitive  wisdom.  Once 
before  he  had  seen,  realized  it.  But  whereas  he  had 
thrust  the  thought  away  the  night  that  he  watched 
Michigan  Red  eat  in  the  lumber-camp,  he  now  gave  it 
free  admittance,  mentally  writhed  as  he  realized  how  this 
and  other  gaucheries  must  have  ground  on  Helen's  sensi 
tive  mental  surfaces.  Fascinated  by  their  gluttony,  he 

281 


THE  SETTLER 

watched  until  dulled  eyes  and  heavy,  stertorous  breath 
ing  signalled  repletion  and  the  close  of  their  meal. 

On  her  part^  Dorothy  was  quietly  observing  him. 
Given  such  knowledge  as  the  Silver  Creek  teamsters  had 
sown  through  the  camp,  it  would  have  been  easy  for  her 
to  guess  the  rest — if  his  conduct  had  borne  out  her 
surmise.  But  he  had  learned  so  much  and  so  quickly 
under  the  stings  of  injured  pride  that  observation  failed 
to  reveal  any  wide  departures  from  the  conventional. 
She  had  to  give  it  up — for  the  present. 

"What  a  strange  man!" 

Her  whisper  dissipated  his  painful  reflections,  and, 
looking  up,  he  saw  that,  after  lighting  his  pipe  with  a  coal 
from  the  stove,  Michigan  Red  was  surveying  them  with 
cool  effrontery  through  the  tobacco  smoke.  His  fiery 
beard  split  in  a  sneer  as  Carter  asked  if  he  had  finished 
supper.  But  he  did  not  take  the  hint  nor  move  when 
ordered  to  call  Bender. 

"Mister  Bender" — he  spat  at  the  title — "is  down  at 
the  grading-camp." 

"I  said  for  you  to  call  him. "  Carter 's  tone,  in  its  very 
gentleness,  caused  the  girl  to  look  quickly  so  she  caught 
his  queer  expression.  Compounded  of  curiosity,  inter 
est,  expectation,  his  glance  seemed  to  flicker  above, 
below,  around  the  red  teamster,  to  enfold,  wrap  him 
with  its  subtle  questioning.  Impressed  more  than  she 
could  have  been  by  threat  or  command,  she  waited — she 
knew  not  for  what — oppressed  by  the  loom  of  imminent 
danger. 

But  it  was  not  in  the  teamster's  book  to  disobey — just 
then.  Lingering  to  pick  another  coal,  he  sauntered  down 
the  room  under  flow  of  that  curious,  flickering  glance, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him  with  a  bang.  Sharp  as 
the  crack  of  a  gun,  Dorothy  half  expected  to  see  smoke 
curling  up  to  the  massive  roof-logs.  But  though  her 

282 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

father  and  lover  looked  their  surprise,  Carter  resumed 
his  eating,  and  there  was  no  comment  until  he  excused 
himself  a  few  minutes  later. 

Tugging  his  gray  beard,  the  chief  engineer  then 
turned  to  the  surveyor.  "Why  doesn't  he  fire  that 
fellow?" 

Shrugging,  the  young  fellow  passed  the  question  up  to 
the  cook.  "You've  known  them  longest." 

Thus  tapped,  the  cook  turned  on  a  flow  of  information, 
appending  his  own  theory  of  Carter's  patience  to  a  short 
and  unflattering  history  of  Michigan  Red.  "You  see, 
Red  thought  he  was  the  better  man  from  the  beginning, 
an'  it  was  just  up  to  the  boss  to  give  him  fair  chance  to 
prove  it.  As  for  him,  he  likes  the  excitement.  You've 
seen  a  cat  play  with  a  mouse  ?  Well — an*  when  the  cat 
does  jump — " 

"Good-bye  mouse,"  the  surveyor  finished. 

The  cook's  significant  nod  filled  Dorothy  with  aston 
ishment.  From  the  social  heights  upon  which  the  acci 
dent  of  birth  had  placed  her,  she  had  looked  down  upon 
the  laboring-classes,  deeming  them  rude,  simple,  unso 
phisticated.  Yet  here  she  found  complex  moods,  a  ven 
detta  conducted  with  Machiavellian  subtlety,  a  drastic 
code  that  compelled  a  man  to  cherish  his  enemy  till  he 
had  had  opportunity  to  strike. 

The  knowledge  helped  her  to  a  conclusion  which  she 
stated  as  they  walked  back  to  her  father's  tent.  "Such 
pride!  I  understand  now  why  he  left  her.  Just  fancy 
his  keeping  on  that  man?" 

"Damned  nonsense,  I  call  it,"  her  father  growled. 
"That  fellow  will  make  trouble  for  him  yet." 

The  prediction  amounted  to  prophecy  in  view  of  a 
conversation  then  proceeding  in  the  bunk-house.  As 
Michigan's  table-mate,  had  fully  reported  the  scene  at 
supper,  the  teamsters  were  ready  with  a  fire  of  chaff 

283 


THE  SETTLER 

when  he  stumbled  over  the  dark  threshold  after  deliver 
ing  Carter's  message. 

"Been  dinin'  in  fash'n'ble  sassiety,  Red  ?"  a  man  ques 
tioned. 

' '  Nope  1"  another  laughed.  '  *  Voylent  colors  ain't  con 
sidered  tasty  any  more,  so  the  boss  fired  him  out  'cause 
his  hair  turned  the  chief's  gal  sick." 

Hoarse  chuckling  accompanied  the  teamster's  answer 
ing  profanity,  but  when,  after  roundly  cursing  them 
selves,  Carter,  the  surveyor,  chief  engineer,  he  began 
on  Dorothy,  laughter  ceased  and  Big  Hans  called  a 
stop. 

"That's  right."  A  voice  seconded  Hans's  objection. 
"We  ain't  stuck  on  the  boss  any  more'n  you  are,  Red; 
but  this  gal  isn't  no  kin  of  his'n.  Leave  her  alone." 

"Sure!"  the  first  man  chimed  in.  "An*  if  he 's  feeling 
his  oats  jes'  now,  he  '11  be  hit  the  harder  when  we  spring 
our  deadfall.  Did  you  sound  the  graders  to-day  ?  Will 
they—" 

"Shet  up!"  Michigan  hissed.  "That  big  mouth  o' 
yourn  spits  clean  across  the  camp  to  the  office."  And 
thereafter  the  conversation  continued  in  sinister  whispers 
that  soon  merged  in  heavy  snoring.  Silence  and  dark 
ness  wrapped  the  camp. 

Awaking  while  it  was  still  dark,  the  camp  rubbed 
sleepy  eyes  and  looked  out,  shivering,  on  smouldering 
smudges.  Outside,  the  air  whined  of  mosquitoes.  At 
the  long  hay-racks  horses  snorted  and  pawed  frantically 
under  the  winged  torture;  patient  oxen  uttered  mained 
lowings.  Growling  and  grumbling,  the  camp  distributed 
itself — teamsters  to  feed  and  rebuild  smudges,  choppers 
and  sawyers  to  the  grindstone  and  filing-benches.  It 
was  a  cold,  dank  world.  Pessimism  prevailed  to  the 
extent  that  a  man  needed  to  walk  straitly,  minding  his 

284 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

own  business,  if  he  would  avoid  quarrel.  But  optimism 
came  with  dawn — teamsters  hissed  cheerfully  over  their 
currying,  saw-filers  and  grinders  indulged  in  snatches  of 
song — reaching  a  climax  with  the  breakfast-call.  When, 
half  an  hour  later,  Dorothy  appeared  in  the  cook-house 
doorway,  the  camp  had  spilled  its  freight  of  men  and 
teams  into  the  forest. 

Warned  by  the  shadow,  the  cook  looked  up  and  saw 
her  in  Stetson  hat,  short  skirt,  high-laced  shoes,  a  sunlit 
vision  with  the  freshness  of  the  morning  upon  its  cheeks. 
"God  bless  you!  Come  right  in,"  he  exclaimed.  "Your 
daddy  an'  Mr.  Hart  hev'  gone  down  line.  Devil's  Mus 
keg  got  hungry  las'  night  an'  swallered  ten  thousand 
yards  of  gradin'." 

As  yet  she  knew  nothing  of  those  treacherous  sinks 
that  gulp  grades,  trestles,  and  the  reputations  of  their 
builders  as  a  frog  swallows  flies,  and  he  went  on,  answer 
ing  her  puzzled  look:  "Morass,  you  know,  swamp  with 
quicksand  foundation  that  goes  clean  down  to  China. 
Nope,  'tain't  Mr.  Carter's  loss.  He  ain't  such  a  fool  as 
to  go  an*  load  a  muskeg  down  with  clay  and  rock.  An 
Easterner  had  it  on  a  sub-contract,  an'  though  Mr.  Carter 
warned  him,  he  reckoned  he  could  make  it  bear  a  grade 
on  brush  hurdles.  Crowed  like  a  Shanghai  rooster  be 
cause  it  carried  trains  for  a  week. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  commented  upon  her  pity  for 
the  luckless  contractor.  "You  kain't  do  nothin'  with 
them  Easterners.  He  was  warned.  Besides,"  he  venge- 
fully  added,  "he  shedn't  ha'  come  crowing  over  us. 
More  coffee,  miss?" 

Leaving  the  cook-house,  a  shadow  fell  between  her  and 
the  sun,  and  Carter  gave  her  good-morning.  "Breaks 
the  poor  devil,"  he  supplemented  the  cook's  information, 
"and  bothers  us.  Cuts  off  our  communications.  We 
shall  have  to  move  the  outfits  back  to  prairie  grading 

285 


THE  SETTLER 

till  they  are  re-established.  I'm  going  down  there — now, 
if  you'd  like  a  hand-car  ride?" 

Would  she?  In  five  minutes  she  was  speeding  along 
under  urge  of  ten  strong  arms,  over  high  trestles  which 
gave  her  sudden  livid  gleams  of  water  far  below,  through 
yellow  cuts,  across  hollow-sounding  bridges,  always  be 
tween  serried  ranks  of  sombre  spruce.  Sometimes  the 
car  rolled  in  between  long  lines  of  men  who  were  tamp 
ing  gravel  under  the  ties.  Rough  fellows  at  the  best, 
they  had  herded  for  months  in  straw  and  dirt,  seeing 
nothing  daintier  than  their  unlovely  selves,  and  as  they 
were  not  the  kind  that  mortifies  the  flesh,  the  girl  was 
much  embarrassed  by  the  fire  of  eyes.  Apart  from  that, 
she  hugely  enjoyed  the  ride.  With  feet  almost  touching 
the  road-bed,  she  got  all  there  was  of  the  motion,  besides 
most  of  the  wind  that  blew  her  hair  into  a  dark  cloud 
and  set  wild  roses  blooming  in  her  cheeks. 

She  gained,  too,  a  new  view -point  of  Carter,  who 
chatted  gayly,  pointing,  explaining,  as  though  they  were 
merely  out  for  pleasure  and  another  had  not  been  just 
added  to  the  heavy  cares  that  burdened  his  broad  shoul 
ders.  She  learned  more  of  the  life,  its  hardship,  com 
edy,  tragedy,  in  half  an  hour's  conversation,  than  she 
could  have  obtained  for  herself  in  a  year's  experience. 

These  different  elements  sometimes  mixed — as  when 
he  indicated  a  blackened  excavation.  "See  that?  A 
man  was  sitting  on  the  stump  that  was  blasted  out  there. 
Reckon  he  got  sort  of  tired  of  the  world,"  he  replied  to 
her  horrified  question,  "and  wanted  a  good  start  for  the 
next."  Then,  easily  philosophical,  quietly  discursive,  he 
wandered  along,  touching  the  suicide's  motives.  There 
had  been  different  theories — drink,  religion,  a  girl — but 
he  himself  inclined  to  aggravated  unsociability.  The 
sombre  forest,  with  its  immensity  of  sad,  environing  space, 
had  translated  mere  moroseness  into  confirmed  hypo- 

286 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

chondria.  He  had  so  bored  the  stumping  outfit,  to  which 
he  belonged,  with  pessimistic  remarks  on  things  in  gen 
eral  that,  in  self-defence,  they  threw  something  at  him 
whenever  he  opened  his  mouth;  and  so,  bottled  up,  his 
gloom  accumulated  until,  in  an  unusually  dismal  mo 
ment,  he  placed  a  full  box  of  dynamite  under  a  stump 
and  sat  down  to  await  results. 

"Why  didn't  some  one  pull  him  off?"  she  cried. 

His  answer  was  pregnant.  "Short  fuse.  Anyway,  the 
boys  didn't  feel  any  call  to  mix  in  his  experiments — 
especially  as  he  swore  a  blue  streak  at  them  till  the 
stump  lifted." 

"Horrible!"  she  breathed. 

"Just  what  they  said."  He  solemnly  misunderstood 
her.  "They  never  heard  such  language.  'Twas  dread 
fully  out  of  place  at  a  funeral." 

"Oh  —  I  didn't  mean  that!"  Then,  considering  his 
serious  gravity,  "Was — was  there — -" 

"Pretty  clean."  He  relieved  her  of  the  remainder  of 
the  question.  ' '  Mostly  translated. ' ' 

Incredulous,  she  glanced  from  him  to  his  men  and 
received  grisly  confirmation,  for  one  thrust  out  a  grimy 
finger  to  show  a  horseshoe  ring.  ' '  I  picked  it  up  on  the 
track,  miss,  forty  rod  from  the — obseq'ses.  Didn't  allow 
he'd  want  it  again." 

Shuddering,  she  turned  back  to  Carter,  but  before  she 
could  make  further  comment  the  car  rolled  from  a  cut 
out  on  the  edge  of  the  Devil's  Muskeg. 

She  thought  him  cold-blooded  until,  that  evening,  she 
learned  from  her  friend,  the  cook,  that  he  had  been 
caught  on  the  edge  of  the  blast  as  he  rushed  to  save  the 
man  and  had  been  thrown  a  hundred  feet.  A  little  dis 
appointed  by  his  apparent  callousness,  she  joined  her 
father  and  lover,  who,  with  the  contractor,  stood  looking 
out  over  the  muskeg.  Sterile,  flat,  white  with  alkali 

287 


THE  SETTLER 

save  where  black  slime  oozed  from  the  sunken  grade,  it 
stretched  a  long  mile  on  either  side  of  the  right  of  way. 
Around  its  edges  skeleton  trees  thrust  blanched  limbs 
upward  through  the  mud,  and  beyond  this  charnel 
forest  loomed  the  omnipresent  spruce.  In  spring-time 
its  quaking  depths  would  have  opened  under  a  fox's 
light  padding,  but  the  summer's  sun  had  dried  the  sur 
face  until  it  carried  a  team — which  fact  had  lured  the 
contractor  to  his  financial  doom.  A  fat,  gross  man,  he 
stood  mopping  his  brow  and  wildly  gesticulating  towards 
the  half-mile  of  rails  that,  with  their  ties,  lay  like  the 
backbone  of  some  primeval  lizard  along  the  mud,  calling 
heaven  and  the  chief  engineer  to  witness  that  this  calam 
ity  was  beyond  the  prevision  of  man. 

"'Jedgment  of  God,'  it's  termed  in  government  con- 
trac's,"  he  exclaimed  to  the  chief,  who,  however,  shrug 
ged  at  such  blackening  of  Providence. 

"Well,  Mr.  Buckle,"  he  answered,  as  Carter  came  up, 
"the  judgment  was  delivered  against  you,  not  us." 

"Yes,  yes!"  the  man  grovellingly  assented.  "I  know 
— mine's  the  loss.  But  you  gentlemen  orter  give  me  a 
chance  to  make  it  up  building  round  this  cursed  mud- 
hole?" 

"Round  what?' 

He  turned  scowlingly  upon  Carter.  "This  mud-hole, 
I  said."  With  a  greasy  sneer,  he  added:  "But  mebbe 
you  kin  build  across  it?" 

"lean." 

"What?"  he  screamed  his  angry  surprise.  "Why, 
hell!  Wasn't  it  you  that  tol'  me  it  wouldn't  carry  a 
grade?" 

"I  said  it  wouldn't  carry  yours." 

His  quiet  assurance  gave  the  contractor  pause,  while 
engineer  and  surveyor  looked  their  surprise.  "Going 
to  drive  piles  down  to  China?"  The  contractor  grew 

288 


THE  SUNKEN  GRADE 

hysterically  sarcastic.  "You'll  need  a  permit  from  Li 
Hung  Chang.  What  do  you  know  about  grades,  any 
way  ?  I  was  building  this  railroad  while  you  was  wear 
ing  long  clothes." 

* '  Likely. ' '  Carter 's  easy  drawl  set  the  others  a-grin  and 
caused  Dorothy  to  hide  her  smile  in  her  handkerchief. 
"But  you  ain't  out  of  yours  yet.  A  yearling  baby 
wouldn't  try  to  stack  rock  on  top  of  mud.  But  that 
isn't  the  question.  D'  you  allow  to  finish  the  contract  ?" 

"Think  I'm  a  fool?"  the  man  rasped. 

"  'Tain't  always  polite  to  state  one's  thoughts.  But — 
do  you?"  And  when  the  other  tendered  a  surly  nega 
tive,  he  turned  to  the  engineer.  "You  hear,  sir?  And 
now  I  file  my  bid." 

The  chief,  however,  looked  his  doubt.  As  yet  engi 
neering  science  offered  no  solution  for  the  muskeg  prob 
lem,  and  this  was  not  the  first  grade  he  had  seen  sacri 
ficed  to  a  theory.  "Are  you  serious?" 

"As  a  Methodist  sermon,"  Carter  answered  his  grave 
question.  Then,  drawing  him  aside,  he  pulled  a  paper 
from  his  pocket — an  estimate  for  the  work.  It  was  dated 
two  weeks  back,  prevision  that  caused  the  chief  to 
grimly  remark:  "Pretty  much  like  measuring  a  living 
man  for  his  coffin,  wasn't  it?  But  look  here,  Carter! 
I'd  hate  to  see  you  go  broke  on  this  hole.  I  doubt — and 
your  figure  is  far  too  low.  What's  your  plan?" 

"I'm  going  to  make  a  sawdust  fill  with  waste  from 
the  Portage  Mills." 

Whistling,  the  chief  looked  his  admiration,  then  grin 
ned,  the  idea  was  so  ludicrous  in  its  simplicity.  For,  all 
said,  the  problem  resolved  itself  into  terms  of  specific 
gravity — iron  sinks  and  wood  floats  in  water;  and  the 
muskeg  which  swallowed  clay  would  easily  carry  a  saw 
dust  bank.  Moreover,  the  idea  was  thoroughly  practica 
ble.  Situated  five  miles  from  Winnipeg,  the  Portage 

289 


THE  SETTLER 

Mills  were  the  largest  in  the  province  and  their  owners 
would  willingly  part  with  the  refuse  that  cumbered  their 
yards. 

"You've  got  it!"  he  cried,  slapping  his  thigh. 

"That's  not  all.  If  old  Brass  Bowels—"  Noticing 
that  the  contractor  was  looking  their  way,  he  finished  in 
a  whisper,  the  significance  of  which  caused  the  chief's 
grizzled  brows  to  rise  till  lost  in  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"You'll  break  camp—?"  he  questioned. 

"To-morrow.  Build  a  spur  into  the  mills,  then  start 
prairie  grading  at  the  American  line  and  run  north. 
Ought  to  make  a  junction  about  the  time  the  sink  is 
filled." 

And  this  he  did.  The  few  miles  of  spur-track  being 
quickly  built,  a  yellow  tide  of  sawdust  was  soon  flowing 
out  to  the  Devil's  Muskeg,  where  Bender's  wood  gang 
directed  its  flow.  At  first  there  was  great  argument 
about  this  new  material,  somS  holding  that  one  might 
as  well  try  to  build  a  road-bed  with  feathers.  But  it 
proved  itself.  Tamping  hard  as  clay,  it  had  greater 
resilience,  and  soon  the  twisted  track  rose  like  a  mained 
serpent  from  the  slimy  clutch  of  the  devil.  Yes,  miles 
of  flat-cars,  boarded  up  till  they  loomed  big  as  houses, 
moved  between  mill  and  slough  through  that  summer, 
and  no  one  dreamed  of  their  slow  procession  having 
other  significance  up  to  the  moment  that  Helen  heard 
newsboys  crying  a  special  in  the  hot  streets — 

"Monopoly  refuses  new  line  a  crossing.  Section  gangs 
tear  up  Carter's  diamond." 


XXVI 

WINNIPEG 

BY  that  time  Helen  had  shaken  down  to  a  life  that 
was  new  as  strange  —  though  not  without  travail; 
shaking  is  always  uncomfortable. 

Coming  in  to  the  city,  a  natural  nervousness — that  in 
definite  apprehension  which  assails  the  stoutest  under 
the  frown  of  new  adventures — had  been  accentuated  by 
heart-sickness  from  her  late  experiences,  and  was  justi 
fied  by  some  to  come.  She  viewed  its  distant  spires 
very  much  as  an  outlaw  might  contemplate  far-off  hos 
tile  towers.  Entering  from  the  west,  as  she  did,  one 
sees  taller  buildings  poke,  one  by  one,  from  under  the 
flat  horizon.  For  the  city  sits  by  the  Red  River — 
smoothest,  most  treacherous  of  streams — in  the  midst  of 
vast  alluvial  plains,  its  back  to  the  "Ragged  Lands," 
facing  the  setting  sun.  North,  south,  east,  and  west  of 
it  they  stretch,  these  great  flat  plains.  Vividly  emerald 
in  spring-time,  June  shoots  their  velvet  with  chameleon 
florescences  that  glow  and  blaze  with  the  seasons,  fix  in 
universal  gold,  then  fade  to  purest  white.  Dark,  dirty, 
the  city  stands  out  on  the  soft  snow-curtain  like  a  sable 
blot  on  an  ermine  mantle.  Withal  it  is  a  clean  city,  for 
if  the  black  muck  of  its  unpaved  streets  cakes  laboring 
wagons  and  Red  River  carts  to  the  hubs  after  spring 
thaws,  the  dirt  is  all  underfoot.  No  manufactures  foul 
the  winds  that  sweep  in  from  boreal  seas  with  the  gar 
nered  essences  of  an  empire  of  flowers. 

291 


THE  SETTLER 

Purely  agricultural,  then,  in  its  functions,  the  bulk  of 
its  burgesses  were,  as  might  be  expected,  store-keepers, 
implement  men,  bankers,  lawyers,  land  agents,  all  who 
serve  or  prey  upon  the  farmer;  for  there,  also,  lurked 
the  usurers,  the  twenty-per-cent.  Shy  locks,  fat  spiders 
whose  strangling  webs  enmeshed  every  township  from 
the  Rockies  to  the  Red.  Spring,  fall,  or  winter,  grist 
failed  not  in  their  dark  mills,  which  ground  finer  and  fast 
er  than  those  of  the  gods.  Scattering  their  evil  seed  on 
the  dark  days,  it  was  their  habit  to  reap  in  the  sunshine, 
competing  for  the  last  straw  with  their  fellows,  the 
business  men,  in  their  single  season  of  profit — Harvest. 
For  in  summer  the  city  drowsed  amid  green  wheat  seas 
that  curved  with  the  degrees  over  the  western  world ;  it 
slept,  nodding,  till  the  wheat,  its  life-blood,  came  in  huge 
arterial  gushes  to  gorge  its  deflated  veins. 

Thus  Helen  found  it — asleep  under  the  midsummer 
sun.  Walking  to  her  destination,  she  met  few  people; 
after  the  hotel  'buses  rattled  by,  the  streets  were  desert 
ed  save  for  an  occasional  buck-board  or  slow  ox-team 
chewing  the  peaceful  cud  at  the  wooden  sidewalk.  When, 
later,  she  walked  those  hot  streets  on  that  most  weari 
some  of  occupations,  the  search  for  an  occupation,  she 
became  familiar  with  the  city's  more  intimate  topogra 
phy — the  huge  concrete  foundations,  vacant,  gaping  as 
though  at  the  folly  which  planned  them  and  their  super 
structures,  the  aerial  castles  that  blew  up  with  the  boom; 
the  occasional  brick  blocks  that  raised  hot  red  heads 
proudly  above  surrounding  buildings,  the  river,  -with  its 
treacherous  peace;  old  Fort  Garry,  which  she  repeopled 
with  governors,  commissioners,  factors,  and  trappers  of 
the  Hudson  Bay  Company. 

Also  she  grew  sensitive  to  its  varied  life,  easily  distin 
guishing  between  emigrants,  who  were  injected  by  daily 
spurts  into  the  streets,  the  city's  veins,  from  the  old- 

292 


WINNIPEG 

timers — remittance-men,  in  yellow  cords  and  putties; 
trappers  from  Keewatin,  Athabasca,  the  Great  Slave 
Lake,  in  fringed  moose-skins;  plethoric  English  farmers, 
or  gaunt  Canadian  settlers  from  the  rich  valley  round 
about;  Indians  of  many  tribes — Cree,  Sioux,  Ojibway; 
the  heterogeneous  mixture  that  yet  lacked  a  drop  of 
the  Yankee  or  continental  blood  which  would  flow,  ten 
years  later,  in  a  broad  river  over  the  American  border. 
But  this  was  after  she  had  fallen  into  her  place  in  the 
household  of  Glaves's  big  sister  among  a  scattering  of 
teachers,  up  for  the  Normal  course,  a  brace  of  lawyers, 
three  store-keepers,  and  a  Scotch  surgeon. 

Just  what  or  where  that  place  was  would  be  hard  to 
say,  seeing  that  it  varied  with  the  view-point  of  each 
lodger,  nor  remained  the  same  in  the  opinion  of  any 
specific  one.  Thus  did  she  shine,  for  one  whole  week, 
the  particular  star  in  the  heaven  of  an  English  teacher, 
a  mercurial  lad  of  twenty;  then  having  rejected  his  heart 
with  a  pecuniary  attachment  of  thirty-five  dollars  per 
mensem,  she  fell  like  a  shooting-star  and  became  a  mere 
receptacle  for  his  succeeding  passions,  which  averaged 
three  a  month.  His  fellow-teachers  swung  on  an  op 
posite  arc.  Canadians,  and  mostly  recruited  from  the 
country,  the  soil  still  clung  to  their  heavy  boots.  The 
profession,  its  aims  and  objects,  formed  their  staple  of 
conversation.  Deeply  imbued  with  the  sense  of  the 
central  importance  of  pedagogy  in  the  scheme  of  things, 
they  wore  an  air  of  owlish  wisdom  that  was  incompati 
ble  with  the  contemplation  of  such  sublunary  things  as 
girls.  Having  wives,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the 
store-keepers  could  notice  a  young  person  whose  attrac 
tions  so  far  exceeded  her  known  acquaintance,  and 
though  the  surgeon,  a  young  man  prodigiously  bony  as 
to  the  leg  and  neck,  really  worshipped  her  from  behind 
the  far  folds  of  his  breakfast  newspaper,  thought  trans- 
ao  293 


THE  SETTLER 

ference  still  lay  in  the  womb  of  future  humbuggery  and 
she  catalogued  him  as  injuriously  cold. 

From  this  conglomerate  of  humanity  she  gained  one 
friend,  the  young  wife  of  a  lawyer  who  had  lately  come 
West.  Prettily  dark  as  Helen  was  delicately  fair,  each 
made  a  foil  for  the  other,  which  necessary  base  for 
feminine  friendships  being  established,  their  relations 
were  further  cemented  by  an  equal  loneliness,  and  made 
more  interesting  by  the  expectation  of  an  event.  As  it 
was  not  yet  fashionable  to  shoo  the  stork  away  from  the 
roof -tree,  behold  the  pair  fussing  and  sewing  certain 
small  garments  with  much  tucking,  trimming,  insertion- 
ing,  regulating  said  processes  by  the  needs  of  some  future 
mystery  dight  "shortening" — all  of  which  brought  Helen 
mixed  feelings.  The  young  husband's  part  in  said  opera 
tions  was  particularly  trying.  Supposedly  immersed  in 
his  paper  of  evenings,  he  would  watch  them  over  the  tip 
with  a  delighted  sagacity  akin  to  the  knowing  look  which 
a  bull-dog  bestows  on  a  crawling  kitten.  At  times,  too, 
he  would  descend  upon  the  work  and  lay  wee  undervests 
out  on  his  big  palm,  tie  ridiculously  small  caps  over  his 
shut  fist,  ask  absurd  questions,  and  generally  display  the 
manly  ignorance  so  sweet  to  the  wifely  soul ;  while  Helen 
sat,  a  silent  spectator  of  their  happiness.  It  is  a  ques 
tion  which  the  acquaintance  brought  her  most,  pain  or 
pleasure. 

The  tale  of  the  boarders  would  not  be  complete  with 
out  mention  of  Jean  Glaves,  a  buxom  woman,  fair  of 
hair,  whose  strong,  broad  face  seemed  to  incarnate  the 
very  spirit  of  motherhood.  With  her  Helen's  place  was 
never  in  doubt.  Opening  her  big  heart,  she  took  the 
lonely  girl  right  in,  and  proved  a  veritable  fount  of  energy 
in  her  disheartening  search  for  work. 

In  this  her  first  experience  conformed  to  that  usual 
with  a  working-girl— she  shivered  under  icy  stares,  shrank 

294 


WINNIPEG 

from  the  rude  rebuffs  of  busy  men,  and  blushed  under 
smiles  of  idle  ones ;  sustained  the  inevitable  insult  at  the 
hands  of  a  rascally  commission  broker  at  the  end  of  one 
day's  employment.  His  quick,  appraising  glance,  fol 
lowing  a  first  refusal,  would  have  warned  a  sophisticated 
business  woman,  but  the  innocence  which  betrayed 
Helen  later  proved  her  best  protection.  The  horror  in 
her  eyes,  childlike  look  of  hurt  surprise,  set  the  dull  reds 
of  shame  in  the  fellow's  cheeks,  but  she  was  out  in  the 
street  with  hat  and  jacket  while  he  was  still  muttering 
his  apology.  Yet  his  grossness  fell  short  of  the  vile  cir 
cumspection  of  her  next  employer.  A  smug  pillar  of 
society  and  something  in  a  church,  caution  would  not 
permit  him  to  stake  reputation  against  possible  pleasure 
on  a  single  throw,  yet  she  labored  under  no  illusions  as  to 
the  motive  behind  her  second  discharge. 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  it!  I  just  can't  try  again!"  she 
cried  that  night  to  Jean  Glaves. 

"You  won't  have  to,  dearie,"  the  big  woman  com 
forted,  and  having  tucked  her  comfortably  upon  her 
own  lounge  with  a  wet  cloth  upon  her  aching  head,  she 
went  straight  to  the  Scotch  surgeon's  room. 

Her  choice  of  confidant  may  have  been  due  either  to 
intuition  or  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  behind  the 
ramparts  of  the  young  man's  breakfast  paper.  The 
event  proved  it  wise,  for  his  giraffe  neck  lengthened 
under  his  angry  gulps,  his  bony  hands  and  nodding  head 
emphasized  and  attested  Jean's  scathing  deliverence 
upon  men  in  general.  "The  scoundrel!"  he  exclaimed, 
when  she  paused  for  lack  of  breath.  "The  scoundrel! 
I'd  flog  him  mysel'  but  for  the  scandal.  But  see  you 
he  '11  no'  go  unpunished.  He 's  a  bid  in  for  the  hospital 
supplies,  and  I'll  be  having  a  word  with  the  head  doctor." 
And  thus,  later,  was  the  smug  villain  hit  to  the  tune  of 
some  hundreds  in  his  tenderest  place,  the  pocket. 

295 


THE  SETTLER 

Not  content  with  future  revenge,  the  Scotchman's 
sympathy  expressed  itself  in  practical  suggestion.  "If 
ye'd  think,  Mistress  Glaves" — he  always  accorded  Jean 
the  quaint  title,  and  it  fell  gracefully  from  his  stiff  lips — 
"now  if  ye'd  suppose  the  young  leddy  would  like  to  try 
her  hand  at  nursing,  there's  a  vacancy  in  the  hospital." 

While  he  hesitated,  Jean  literally  grabbed  opportunity 
by  the  collar.  "You  come  along  with  me." 

Introduced  a  few  seconds  thereafter  to  man  and  sub 
ject,  Helen  exclaimed  that  she  would  love  the  work; 
nor  were  her  thanks  less  sincere  for  being  couched  in 
stereotyped  form.  How  could  she  thank  him?  Being 
sincere'  to  the  point  of  pain,  after  the  fashion  of  his 
nation,  the  young  man  had  almost  answered  that  the 
obligation  lay  with  him  in  that  his  studies  behind  the 
newspaper  would  be  furthered  and  facilitated.  He  re 
plied,  instead,  that  the  pay  would  be  small,  the  work 
hard. 

Not  to  be  discouraged,  she  was  thus  launched  upon 
what,  in  her  condition,  was  the  best  of  possible  careers. 
For  the  mental  suffering  which,  lacking  an  outlet,  burns 
inwardly  till  naught  is  left  of  feeling  but  slag  and  cinders, 
becomes  the  strongest  of  motor  forces  when  expended  in 
service  for  others.  Throwing  herself  body  and  soul  into 
the  new  work,  she  forgot  the  suspicion,  scandal  that  had 
lately  embittered  her  days,  and  had  such  surcease  of 
loneliness  that  in  one  month  the  lines  of  pain  disappeared 
from  around  her  eyes,  her  drooping  mouth  drew  again 
into  the  old  firm  tenderness. 

Besides  content,  the  month  brought  her  other  satisfac 
tions.  Owing  to  lack  of  accommodation  at  the  hospital, 
she  still  slept  at  the  boarding-house,  and  dropping  into 
Jean  Glaves 's  room  for  a  chat  one  evening,  she  found  her 
conversing  with  a  girl  of  her  own  age.  She  would  have 
retired  but  that  Jean  called  her  back.  "Don't  go!  We 


WINNIPEG 

were  talking  of  you.  This  is  Miss  Dorothy  Chester,  who 
used  to  board  with  me.  Miss  Chester — Mrs.  Morrill." 

There  was,  of  course,  nothing  in  the  names  to  convey 
the  significance  of  the  introduction  to  either.  After  that 
period  of  secret  study  which  is  covered  by  the  feminine 
amenities,  each  decided  that  she  liked  the  other.  Helen 
gladly  accepted  Dorothy's  invitation  to  call,  and  in  this 
ordinary  fashion  began  a  momentous  acquaintance  that 
soon  developed  through  natural  affinity  into  one  of  those 
rare  and  softly  beautiful  friendships  which  are  occasion 
ally  seen  between  women.  And  as  friendship  means 
association  in  a  city  that  has  no  theatre  and  few  amuse 
ments,  it  soon  happened  that  any  evening  might  see 
Dorothy  in  Helen's  room,  or  Helen  on  the  way  to  her 
friend's  hotel.  Naturally  Helen  quickly  learned  that  her 
friend's  father  and  lover  were  head  engineers  on  Carter's 
road,  and  that  she  had  visited  them  in  camp;  and  as 
Dorothy  was  as  willing  to  talk  of  her  novel  experience 
as  Helen  to  listen,  imagine  the  pair  in  the  former's  cosey 
bedroom,  one  snugged  up  on  a  lounge,  the  other  coiled 
in  some  mysterious  feminine  fashion  on  pillows  at  her 
side,  fair  girl  hanging  on  dark  girl's  lips  as  she  prattled 
of  Carter,  or  joining  in  speculations  as  to  what  kind  of  a 
woman  his  wife  might  be. 

She  positively  jumped  when  Dorothy  declared  one 
evening:  "I'm  sure  he  still  loves  her.  Ernest  says  that 
he  scoured  the  city  for  her;  only  gave  up  when  he  felt 
sure  that  she  had  gone  East  to  her  friends.  When  the 
road  is  finished,  he  is  going  back  to  look  for  her." 

He  had  searched  for  her!  Still  loved  her!  It  rhymed 
with  her  deft  fingers  rolling  bandages ;  tuned  her  feet  as 
she  bore  medicine-trays  from  ward  to  ward;  ousted  the 
dry  anatomical  terms  of  the  daily  lecture  from  their 
proper  place  in  her  mind.  The  thought  illumined  her 
face  so  that  maimed  men  twisted  on  their  cots  to  watch 

297 


THE  SETTLER 

her  down  the  ward.  Meeting  her  on  the  main  stairs,  one 
day,  Carruthers,  the  Scotch  surgeon,  almost  mistook  her 
for  the  Virgin  Mother  in  the  stained  window  above  the 
landing.  He  searched  for  me!  is  going  back  East  to  look 
for  me!  The  days  spun  by  to  that  magical  refrain. 

Why,  in  view  of  all  this,  did  she  not  confide  in  Dorothy  ? 
Though  its  roots  grip  deep  down  in  woman  nature,  the 
strange,  contradictory,  inconsequential,  yet  wise  woman 
nature,  the  reason  lies  close  to  the  surface.  Physically 
akin  to  the  impulse  which  urges  a  shy  doe  to  fly  from  its 
forest  mate,  her  feeling  flowed,  mentally,  from  injured 
wifehood.  For  all  her  natural  sweetness  and  joy  over 
the  thought  of  reunion,  she  was  not  ready  to  purchase 
happiness  with  unconditional  surrender;  to  make  over 
tures  directly,  or  through  Dorothy,  that  might  be  con 
strued  as  a  bid  for  executive  clemency.  As  he  had  de 
serted  her,  so  he  must  return;  and  that  prideful  resolu 
tion  was  strengthened  and  justified  by  the  suffering  which 
had  immeasurably  exceeded  her  fault.  Yes,  first  he  must 
return,  then  —  would  she  instantly  forgive  him?  Any 
lover  can  answer  the  question;  if  not,  let  him  consult 
his  sweetheart.  "I'd  make  him  suffer!"  she  will  cry, 
gritting  pretty  teeth.  So  Helen.  Very  unchristian, 
wicked,  but  natural. 

No,  she  did  not  confide  in  Dorothy,  went  quietly  about 
her  business,  hugging  her  sweet  secret  to  her  own  soul, 
until —  But  this  summary  of  her  thought  and  feeling 
would  not  be  complete  without  mention  of  a  last,  per 
haps  greatest,  satisfaction — her  joy  in  reading  newspaper 
accounts  of  Carter's  progress.  Editorials,  politics,  re 
ports,  she  read  all,  day  by  day,  glowing  over  red-hot 
denunciations  of  the  monopoly  while  she  thought  what 
good  men  the  editors  must  be,  and  how  intelligent  to  so 
clearly  discern  her  husband's  merits.  She  was  mightily 
troubled  by  the  insatiate  appetite  of  the  Devil's  Muskeg, 

298 


WINNIPEG 

studying  its  rapacious  dietary  as  though  it  were  a  dia 
betes  patient.  She  triumphed  when  Carter  successfully 
treated  its  ineffable  hunger  with  vegetarian  diet  of  saw 
dust;  shivered  when  he  was  refused  a  crossing  of  the 
trunk  line;  thrilled  over  the  battle  when  Bender  and 
the  woodmen  beat  back  the  monopoly's  levies  while  the 
trackmen  laid  the  "diamond,"  and  grew  sick  with  fear, 
as  before  mentioned,  when  she  heard  the  newsboys  cry 
ing  out  Carter's  final  repulse  as  she  was  walking  home  to 
her  room  about  eight  o'clock  one  evening. 

Though  very  tired,  she  immediately  turned  in  her 
agitation,  and,  undeterred  by  the  continent  of  blue-print 
uniform  that  spread  below  her  brown  ulster,  she  hurried 
to  Dorothy's  hotel,  an  old  caravansary  that  had  survived 
two  rebellions  and  the  bursting  of  the  boom.  Once  chief 
of  the  city's  hostelries,  the  old  house  still  attracted  peo 
ple  who  preferred  its  solid  comfort  to  the  gilt,  lacquer, 
garish  splendors  of  more  modern  rivals.  The  parlor  in 
which  she  waited  while  her  name  was  taken  up  to 
Dorothy,  was  panelled  with  sombre  woods;  her  feet 
literally  sank  in  a  pile  carpet,  thick,  green,  and  dark 
as  forest  moss.  Walls  were  upholstered  in  hammered 
leather;  chairs,  heavy  table,  massive  furnishings,  all 
were  of  black  oak.  The  portraits  of  governors,  high 
commissioners,  and  chief  factors  of  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company,  soldiers  and  traders  or  both,  seemed  ready  to 
step  down  from  their  frames  to  engage  in  wise  council 
and  issue  fiats  that  would  set  a  hundred  tribes  in  motion. 
Time  stood  still  in  that  solid  atmosphere.  Heavy  odors 
of  leather  and  wood,  the  pervading  feeling  of  peaceful 
age  combined  to  soothe  her  fretted  nerves,  and  she  had 
just  relaxed  her  tired  body  within  the  embrace  of  a 
mighty  chair  when  passing  footsteps  and  a  voice  brought 
her  up,  tense  and  rigid. 

Returning  just  then,  the  bell-boy  repeated  her  ques- 

299 


THE  SETTLER 

tion:  "  Gentlemen  who  just  passed,  Miss  ?  Mr.  Greer  and 
Mr.  Smythe,  people  that  are  financing  the  new  line,  and 
Mr.  Carter,  their  head  contractor.  They  are  dining  here 
with  the  general  manager  of  the  trunk  line.  If  you'd 
like  to  see  them,"  he  added,  interpreting  her  interest  as 
curiosity,  "  just  step  this  way.  They've  all  gone  in,  and 
you  can  peep  through' the  glass  doors.  It's  that  dark 
in  the  passage  no  one  will  see  you." 

As  she  tiptoed  after  him  down  4he  dark  hallway  he 
whispered  further — "Reminds  me  of  them  old  Romans, 
the  general  manager;  them  fellows  that  used  to  invite  a 
man  to  a  poisoned  dinner.  He's  got  those  chaps  shooed 
up  into  a  corner,  and  now  he's  going  to  kill  their  financial 
goose  over  the  cigars  and  wine.  Sure,  Miss,  everybody 
knows  that  Greer's  on  his  last  legs.  Bit  off  more  than 
he  could  chew  when  he  went  to  railroading;  but  old 
Brass  Bowels  will  treat  his  indigestion.  That's  him, 
stout  gent  with  his  back  this  way.  Greer  and  Smythe 's 
either  side  of  him.  That's  Mr.  Carter  opposite.  T'other 
gentleman,  Mr.  Sparks,  is  general  superintendent  of  the 
western  division." 

Slipping  by  the  others  her  glance  glued — the  term  is 
eschewed  by  purists,  who  ironically  inquire  if  the  adhe 
sive  used  was  of  the  carpenter  variety,  but  it  exactly 
describes  her  steadfast  gaze — her  glance  glued  to  Carter's 
face.  From  above  an  arc  lamp  streamed  white  light 
down  upon  him,  darkening  the  hollows  under  his  eyes, 
raising  his  strong  features  in  bold  relief.  This,  be  it 
remembered,  was  the  first  she  had  seen  of  him  since  he 
broke  in  upon  the  Ravell  dinner-party,  black,  sooty, 
smelling  evilly  of  sweat  and  smoke.  And  now  he  sat 
with  a  waiter  behind  his  chair,  at  meat  with  the  greatest 
man  in  the  north,  at  a  table  that  was  spread  with  plate, 
cut-glass,  linen,  all  of  a  costly  elegance  that  transcended 
her  own  experience.  The  champagne  bucket,  at  his 

300 


WINNIPEG 

elbow,  of  solid  silver,  with  gold-crusted  bottles  thrusting 
sloping  shoulders  out  of  cracked  ice,  the  last  accessory  of 
luxurious  living,  took  on  wonderful  significance  in  that 
it  accentuated  to  the  last  degree  their  changed  positions. 
For  surely  the  gods  had  turned  the  tables  by  bringing 
her  in  print  hospital  uniform  and  shabby  ulster  to  wit 
ness  this  crowning  of  his  development. 

Be  sure  she  felt  the  contrast.  How  could  she  do  other 
wise?  Yet  her  feeling  lacked  the  slightest  touch  of 
humiliation.  Above  such  snobbishness,  she  was  filled 
by  joy  and  pride  in  his  achievement,  joined  with  tremu 
lous  fear,  for  the  bell-boy's  remarks  had  quickened  her 
apprehension.  That  distinguished  company,  costly  ap 
pointments,  perfect  service,  impressed  her  as  little  as  it 
did  Carter,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal,  for  the  pomp  of 
civilization  counts  more  with  women  than  men,  and  he 
was  bearing  himself  with  the  easiness  of  one  who  has 
conquered  social  circumstance.  He  chose  the  right  fork 
for  his  salad,  knife  for  his  butter;  broke  his  bread  deli 
cately,  trifled  with  green  olives  as  if  born  to  the  taste — 
though  this  edible  presented  itself  as  a  new  and  bitter 
experience — small  things  and  foolish  if  made  an  end  in 
themselves,  yet  important  in  that,  with  improper  usage, 
they  become  as  barbed  thorns  in  the  side  of  self-respect. 
Significant  things  in  Carter's  case  because  they  showed 
that  he  had  applied  to  his  social  relations  the  same 
shrewdness,  common-sense,  keen  sight  that  was  making 
him  successful  in  large  undertakings. 

Of  course  she  noted  his  improvement?  That  he  no 
longer  used  knife  for  spoon,  squared  elbows  over  his  head, 
sopped  bread  in  gravy  ?  On  the  contrary,  she  saw  only 
his  face,  dark  and  stern  save  when  a  smile  brought  the 
old  humor  back  to  his  mouth.  Her  hungry  eyes  traced 
its  every  line,  marking  the  minutest  changes  wrought 
by  thought,  care,  sorrow,  time's  graving  tools.  Hands 

301 


THE  SETTLER 

pressing  her  breast,  she  struggled  for  his  voice  with  thick 
oak  and  heavy  plate-glass,  and  so  stood,  wrapped  up  in 
him  and  their  past,  till  the  bell-boy  spoke. 

"Miss  Chester  said  you  was  to  go  right  up,  Miss." 
She  jumped,  and  her  tremulous  fear  took  form  in 
words.     "You  are  sure  the  general  manager  will — " 

" — Do  things  to  'em?"  he  finished,  as  he  led  her  up 
stairs.     "They're  dead  ones,  Miss." 


XXVII 

THE     NATURE     OF    THE     CINCH 

THE  bell-boy  was  not  alone  in  his  opinion.  Through 
that  summer  twenty  thousand  settler  farmers  had 
kept  suspicious  tab  on  the  monopoly,  and  now  that  it  felt 
the  clutch  reclosing  on  its  throat,  the  entire  province  had 
flamed  up  in  wrath  and  fear.  Press,  legislature,  and  pul 
pit  denounced  the  refusal  of  a  crossing  that  was  without 
shadow  of  a  claim  in  equity,  and  was  plainly  intended 
to  kill  competition  by  tedious  and  costly  litigation.  In 
town,  village,  on  trail,  at  meeting,  wherever  two  settlers 
were  gathered  together,  the  general  manager's  action 
was  damned  in  no  uncertain  terms.  Indignation  flowed 
like  a  tidal- wave  over  the  plains.  Skimming  low  with 
the  north  wind,  an  aeronaut  would  have  heard  the  hum 
of  speech  rise  from  the  face  of  the  land,  angry  and  con 
tinuous  as  the  buzz  of  swarming  bees.  It  had  pealed 
out  in  clarion  triumph,  that  huge  vox  humana,  when  the 
"diamond"  was  laid  after  desperate  fighting;  it  swelled 
in  furious  discordance  when,  the  previous  day,  Carter's 
men  were  forced  back  by  sheer  weight  of  the  levies  that 
the  general  manager  had  gathered  and  brought  in  from 
the  sections  along  three  thousand  miles  of  track. 

It  was  one  of  those  situations  which  require  only  a 
touch  of  demagoguery  to  wreak  great  harm.  Insurrec 
tion  hung  thick  in  the  air.  Secession  and  coalescence 
with  the  United  States  were  openly  advocated  by  men 
who  later  read  with  astonishment  their  own  words  in  the 

303 


THE  SETTLER 

papers  of  that  stormy  time.  Thousands  of  armed  set 
tlers  waited  only  for  the  word  to  fall  upon  the  monopoly's 
levies,  but  in  face  of  united  public  opinion,  backed  by  an 
inflamed  press,  Carter  and  his  people  remained  quiescent 
— supinely  quiescent,  according  to  certain  editorials. 

A  morning  paper  recalled  its  prediction  of  months  ago: 
"We  warned  Mr.  Carter  not  to  be  deceived  by  the 
monopoly's  complaisance  in  bringing  his  construction 
outfit  and  supplies  out  from  the  East  over  its  tracks. 
The  concession  was  merely  bait  for  the  trap,  analogous 
to  the  handing  of  a  rope  to  a  fool  wherewith  to  hang 
himself.  We  are  loath  to  quote  the  old  proverb  against 
Mr.  Carter,  yet  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  the  monopoly 
snaps  its  fingers  in  the  face  of  this  province  through  him, 
we  should  be  tempted  to  show  satisfaction  at  the  plight 
to  which  his  fatuous  self-confidence  has  brought  him." 

The  article  closed  with  a  vivid  word  picture  of  the 
general  manager  chuckling  a  la  Mephistopheles  in  the 
privacy  of  his  luxurious  office ;  which,  perhaps,  approxi 
mated  the  reality  more  closely  than  that  in  the  minds  of 
the  laity.  For  a  composite  of  the  popular  impression 
would  have  shown  the  entire  railroad  pantheon,  gener 
al  manager,  department  heads,  with  their  clerks,  sub 
heads,  assistants,  and  deputy  assistants,  all  very  lofty 
of  brow  and  solemn  of  face,  in  session  over  the  crisis. 

The  reality  was  much  more  prosaic.  Indifferent  to 
the  newsboys,  who  were  crying  his  crimes  on  the  streets, 
the  general  manager  sat  in  the  office  of  the  division 
superintendent  that  morning,  chair  tilted  back,  feet  on 
the  table,  thumbs  comfortably  bestowed  in  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  vest.  It  has  remained  for  a  practical  busi 
ness  age  to  clothe  itself  in  the  quintessence  of  ugliness. 
Imagine  Julius  Caesar  in  a  tuxedo,  Hamlet  wearing  a 
stove-pipe  hat!  His  black  coat,  check  trousers  would 
have  pleased  a  grocer's  fancy  in  Sunday  wear,  and  it 

304 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CINCH 

were  difficult  to  realize  that  their  commonplace  ugliness 
clothed  a  power  greater  than  Caesar's  —  the  ability  to 
create  and  people  provinces,  to  annihilate  and  build  up 
towns,  to  move  cities  like  checkers  over  the  map ;  harder 
still  to  listen  to  his  curt  speech,  issuing  from  blue  tobacco 
smoke,  and  believe  that  an  empire  larger  than  ancient 
Rome  paid  him  tribute,  that  the  blood  and  sweat  of  a 
generation  had  gone  to  grease  his  juggernautal  wheels. 
Yet  the  speech  itself  certified  to  the  power. 

"We  made  a  mistake,  Sparks;  but  who  could  foresee 
this  fellow  Carter  ?  Here's  the  N.  P.  lusting  for  a  chance 
to  cut  in  over  the  border.  Give  them  that  crossing  and 
old  Jim  Ball  will  place  their  bonds  for  any  amount  in  ex 
change  for  reciprocal  running  arrangements.  So  we've 
got  to  make  a  quick  killing.  Buy  'em  out,  lock,  stock, 
and  barrel,  while  the  fear  of  God's  in  their  hearts.  They 
must  sell — look  at  this  Bradstreet  report  on  old  Greer's 
assets.  Just  about  at  the  end  of  his  string.  So  I  want 
you  to  write  and  invite  them  to  dinner  to-night — Greer, 
Smythe,  and  Carter — though  the  order  ought  to  be  re 
versed;  he's  the  brains  of  the  business.  Draw  it  mild 
— conference  with  a  view  to  amicable  arrangement  of 
points  at  issue,  and  so  forth.  But  when  we  once  get 
them  there — "  His  nod  was  brutal  in  its  significance. 

Equally  wide  of  popular  conception  was  the  scene  in  the 
banking  office  of  Greer  &  Smythe  when  the  invitation 
was  delivered.  Carter,  who  swung  an  easy  leg  from  his 
favorite  perch  on  the  table,  seemed  to  have  thrived  on 
defeat;  the  most  elastic  imagination  would  have  failed 
to  invest  him  with  the  weight  of  a  people's  cares.  In 
deed,  he  laughed  when  the  senior  partner  handed  him  the 
general  manager's  note. 

"Hum!  'Will  you  walk  into  my  parlor,  said  the 
spider  to  the  fly!'  What  do  I  make  of  it ?  That's  easy. 
Has  us  going — or  thinks  he  has — and  is  aching  to  deliver 

305 


THE  SETTLER 

the  knock-out.  A  million  to  a  minute  he  wants  to  buy 
us  out." 

"Well,  he  never  will!"  Red  and  plethoric,  the  senior 
partner  sprang  up.  An  elderly  man,  his  clear  eyes, 
honest  face,  framed  in  white  side- whiskers  of  the  Dun 
dreary  style,  all  stamped  him  as  .belonging  to  the  old- 
fashioned  school  of  finance  which  aimed  always  to 
advance  the  civic  interest  while  turning  an  honest  pen 
ny.  "No,  sir!"  he  reiterated.  "We'll  break  first;  and 
goodness  knows  that  is  not  so  far  away.  Yesterday  I 
approached  Murray,  of  the  North  American  Bank,  but 
he  answered  me  in  his  broad  Scotch:  'Hoots,  mon! 
get  your  crossing  first.  Get  your  crossing  an'  we'll 
talk.'  And  so  with  Butler,  Smith,  and  others  who  prom 
ised  support." 

"Cold  feet,  eh?"  Carter  commented.  "They'll  warm 
them  presently  chasing  themselves  for  a  chance  to 
come  in." 

The  old  gentleman  ran  on  in  his  indignation.  "Yes, 
we  are  about  at  the  end  of  our  financial  string,  but  we 
would  rather  dangle  there  than  yield  to  these  pirates. 
Am  I  right,  sir?" 

Smythe,  a  younger  man,  lean,  laconic,  and  dark  as 
the  other  was  stout,  florid,  nodded,  and  his  vigorous 
answer  was  untainted  by  a  suspicion  of  compromise. 
"Surely,  sir!  But  if  Mr.  Carter's  plan  fails — "  His 
shrug  supplied  the  hiatus. 

Carter  answered  the  shrug.  "It  won't  fail."  He  held 
up  the  invitation.  "But,  say!  Fancy — to-day,  of  all 
days?" 

"Of  course  we  won't  go,"  Smythe  frowned. 

"Of  course  we  will"  Carter  grinned.  "Think  what  it 
means?  Besides  blinding  them  to  the  trap,  we  shall  be 
there  when  it  springs,  and  I  wouldn't  miss  Brass  Bowels' 
face  for  a  thousand,  cash.  Let  me  see;  the  bid  is  for 

306 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CINCH 

eight-thirty.  Western  flyer  is  due  at  Portage  station 
nine-fifteen.  He'll  hardly  broach  business  before  the 
coffee,  and  with  any  kind  of  luck  we  ought  to  serve  him 
up  a  beautiful  case  of  indigestion." 

"With  luck?"  the  senior  partner  echoed. 

"With  or  without.  Everything  is  planned  beyond 
possibility  of  failure.  Mr.  Chester  goes  with  Mr.  Hart 
on  the  construction -train,  while  Bender  keeps  things 
humming  at  the  crossing.  By-the-way,  he's  in  the  outer 
office  now,  with  Hart,  waiting  for  last  orders,  and  if  you 
don't  mind  I'll  have  them  in.  I  wouldn't  take  a  chance 
even  on  your  clerks." 

In  view  of  just  such  a  contingency,  Bender  had  in 
vested  his  bulk  with  store  clothes  of  that  indescribable 
pattern  and  cut  which  fulfils  lumberman  ideals.  From 
his  mighty  shoulders  a  quarter-acre  of  black  coat  fell 
half-way  down  worsted  pantaloons  that  were  displaying 
an  unconquerable  desire  to  use  the  wrinkles  of  high 
boots  as  a  step-ladder  to  his  knees.  As  collars  did  not 
come  in  sizes  for  his  red  throat,  he  had  compromised 
on  a  kerchief  of  gorgeous  silk,  and  a  soft  hat,  flat  and 
black,  completed  a  costume  that  was  at  once  his  pride 
and  penance.  In  the  luxurious  office,  with  its  rich  fittings 
in  mahogany  and  leather,  he  loomed  larger  than  ever; 
was  foreign  as  a  bear  in  a  lady's  boudoir.  Uncomforta 
bly  aware  of  the  fact,  he  took  the  chair  which  the  senior 
partner  offered  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  was  fairly  com 
fortable  till  the  position  discovered  its  own  disadvantages 
— while  his  coat  announced  every  movement  with  minia 
ture  feux  de  joie  from  bursting  seams,  his  trousers  ascend 
ed  his  boots  as  a  fireman  goes  up  a  hotel  escape.  To 
which  sources  of  discomfort  was  added  the  knowledge 
that  his  face  mapped  in  fair  characters  the  fluctuations 
of  the  recent  combat.  But  he  forgot  all — scars,  raiment, 
unconventional  bulk — as  soon  as  he  began  to  talk. 

307 


THE  SETTLER 

"All  ready,"  he  replied  to  Carter's  question.  " Buckle 
has  been  round  the  camp  some  lately.  Only  this  morn 
ing  I  caught  him  talking  to  Michigan  Red.  It's  a  cinch 
that  he  was  spotting  for  the  railroad,  but  as  I  knew 
you'd  as  lief  he'd  tip  us  off  as  not,  I  didn't  bust  his  head. 
Jes'  allowed  I  didn't  see  him." 

"Yes,  let  him  talk,"  Carter  replied,  relative  to  the 
broken  contractor.  "But" — he  addressed  the  surveyor 
— "there's  no  whispering  in  your  outfit?" 

"Couldn't  be,"  the  young  fellow  laughed.  "Mr.  Ches 
ter  only  told  me  an  hour  ago.  The  men  know  nothing— 
will  know  nothing  up  to  the  moment  we  pull  into 
Prairie." 

"Good.  Now,  you  are  to  leave  at  dusk,  and  don't 
forget  to  grab  the  operator  before  he  can  rattle  a  key. 
But  turn  him  loose  as  soon  as  you  are  through  and  let 
him  wire  in  the  news.  And  you,  Bender,  start  in  at 
eight,  keep  'em  busy  as  long  as  you  can,  then  load  what's 
left  of  you  in  a  flat-car  and  steam  round  for  Mr.  Hart." 

"What's  left  of  me?"  Bender  growled,  as  he  walked 
with  the  surveyor  down-street  a  few  minutes  later. 
"Hum!  Give  me  the  Cougar  and  an  even  hundred  of 
old-style  Michigan  men,  and  I'd  drive  the  last  of  Brass 
Bowels'  tarriers  into  the  Red  and  beat  you  out  laying 
the  diamond.  But,  Lordy,  what's  the  use  o'  talking! 
The  old  stock  petering  out  an'  the  new's  jes'  rotten  with 
education.  They'd  sooner  work  than  fight,  an*  loaf  than 
either,  for  they  ain't  exactly  what  you'd  call  perticler 
hell  on  labor.  What's  left  of  me?  Well,  there'll  be 
some  fragments,  I  guess.  While  I  was  hanging  round  I 
picked  up  an  odd  score  of  Oregon  choppers  that  blew  in 
here  las'  week.  Brass  Bowels'  agent  tried  for  'em,  but 
they'd  lumbered  with  me  in  British  Columbia.  Come 
out  an'  see  'em.  They're  beauties." 

Perhaps  they  were,  for  standards  of  beauty,  morality, 

308 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CINCH 

of  any  old  thing,  are  merely  relative  and  depend  so  much 
on  local  color.  To  Hart,  who  reviewed  the  "beauties" 
in  Bender's  camp,  they  seemed  the  most  unmitigated 
ruffians  in  his  railroad  experience;  but  as  they  strut  on 
this  small  section  of  the  world-stage  for  ' '  Positively  one 
appearance  only,"  let  them  be  judged  by  their  record  in 
the  rough  work  of  that  night ;  by  the  way  in  which  they 
bore  themselves  in  the  roar,  surge,  and  tumble  of  a  losing 
fight,  the  echoes  of  which  alarmed  the  dark  city  and 
came  with  the  soup  to  the  general  manager's  dinner; 
and  let  him  deliver  their  valedictory  to  his  guests  at  table. 
Throwing  a  telegram — which  a  waiter  brought  in  just 
after  Helen  went  up-stairs — across  to  Carter,  the  mag 
nate  remarked:  "That  big  foreman  of  yours  has  been  at 
it  again.  He  has  put  two  of  our  heaviest  engines  into 
the  ditch  and  ten  men  into  hospital.  Not  bad,  but — he 
didn't  lay  the  diamond." 

"Oh,  well,"  Carter  shrugged,  "better  luck  next  time." 
"Ah,  yes — the  next  time?"  Repeating  the  phrase 
with  dubious  inflection,  he  went  on  with  his  dinner,  and 
for  an  hour  thereafter  no  one  heard  the  rattle  of  the 
skeleton  behind  the  feast.  He  acted  the  perfect  host, 
easily  courteous,  pleasant,  anxious  for  the  preference  of 
his  guests.  As  he  ran  on,  drawing  from  the  sources  of  a 
wide  and  unusual  experience  for  his  dinner  chat,  it  was 
curious  to  note  the  shadings  in  his  manner.  Addressing 
the  partners,  he  seemed  to  exhale  rather  than  evidence 
a  superiority  which,  on  their  part,  they  countenanced 
by  an  equally  subtle  homage.  Integrity  and  depreca 
tion  of  his  policy  and  methods  were  dominated  by  the 
orthodox  business  sense  which  forced  subconscious  recog 
nition  of  his  title  as  king  of  their  business  world.  With 
Carter,  however,  he  was  frankly  free,  as  though  they 
two  had  been  section-men  eating  their  bite  together  on 
a  pile  of  ties,  and  doubtless  the  difference  in  his  man- 

309 


THE  SETTLER 

ner  sprang  from  some  such  feeling.  For  whereas  the 
partners  were  born  to  their  station,  he  recognized  Carter 
as  a  product — unfinished,  but  still  a  product — of  the  forces 
which  had  produced  himself  and  a  dozen  other  kings  and 
great  contractors  of  the  constructive  railroad  era.  With 
out  invidious  distinction  or  neglect  of  the  others,  he  yet 
made  him  the  focus  of  attention. 

"We  heard  all  about  your  sawdust  grades,"  he  compli 
mented,  with  real  cordiality.  ' '  A  mighty  clever  idea,  sir ; 
pity  you  couldn't  patent  it — though  we  are  glad  you  can 
not,  for  we  intend  to  apply  it  on  all  our  Rainy  River 
muskegs." 

Approaching  business  at  the  close  of  the  meal,  he  was 
equally  suave.  ' '  You  are  to  be  complimented  upon  your 
achievement,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  the  part 
ners.  "We  feel  that  while  supplying  a  real  need  of  the 
province,  you  have  convicted  us  of  remissness.  But 
now  that  we  do  see  our  duty,  it  would  be  equally  criminal 
for  us  to  leave  you  the  burden  of  this  heavy  responsibility. 
We  know  how  it  has  taxed  your  resources  " — his  gray 
eye  stabbed  the  senior  partner — "and  we  are  fully  pre 
pared  to  relieve  you."  Pausing,  he  lit  a  cigar,  puffed  a 
moment,  and  finished,  "We  will  take  the  enterprise  off 
your  hands,  bag  and  baggage,  on  terms  that  will  yield 
you  a  handsome  profit." 

A  pause  followed.  No  man  turns  from  an  easy  road 
to  a  rocky  climb  without  lingering  backward  glances, 
and  the  partners  looked  at  one  another  while  the  general 
manager  leaned  back  and  smoked  with  the  air  of  one 
who  had  faithfully  performed  a  magnanimous  duty. 
Greer  spoke  first. 

"Very  kind  offer,  I  am  sure." 

"Most  handsome,"  Smythe,  the  laconic,  added. 
"But—"  He  glanced  at  Carter,  who  finished,  "We  are 
not  on  the  market." 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CINCH 

The  manager  raised  his  brows.  Expecting  a  first 
refusal,  he  was  slightly  staggered  and  irritated  by  its 
bluntness,  yet  masked  both  emotions.  "Not  on  your 
own  terms?" 

"On  no  terms/'  Greer  emphatically  answered;  then, 
flushing,  he  added:  "Our  chief  motive  in  going  into  this 
enterprise,  sir,  was  to  bring  sorely  needed  railroad  com 
petition  into  this  province.  It  would  not  be  subserved 
by  our  selling  to  you." 

The  manager  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigar.  Then, 
while  smoking,  he  regarded  the  old  gentleman  from  under 
bulging  lids  very  much  as  a  curious  collector  might  note 
the  wriggles  of  an  impaled  beetle.  "Very  laudable  in 
tention;  does  you  credit,  sir.  But  you  must  pardon  me 
if  I  doubt  that  you  will  carry  it  to  the  length  of  financial 
hari-kari.  You  have  heard  of  that  Japanese  custom? 
A  man  commits  suicide,  empties  himself  upon  a  cold  and 
unsympathetic  world  for  the  benefit  of  his  enemy,  who 
is  compelled  by  custom  to  go  and  do  likewise.  In  your 
case  the  sacrifice  would  be  foolish  because  we  shouldn't 
follow  suit.  Now  when  I  spoke  of  your  resources  " — 
during  an  ugly  pause  his  glance  flickered  between  the 
partners — ' '  I  did  not  state  our  exact  knowledge  of  their 
extent.  You  are — practically — broke.  In  addition,  we 
have  bought  up  all  of  your  paper  that  we  could  find 
floating  on  the  market,  and  three  months  from  now — we 
shall  be  in  a  position  to  demand  a  receiver  in  bankruptcy. 
Stop!"  Frowning  down  Greer's  attempted  interruption, 
he  dropped  his  suave  mask  and  stood  out,  the  financial 
king,  brutal,  imperious,  predatory.  "I  know  what  you 
would  say.  Three  months  is  a  long  time.  But  no  one 
will  make  you  a  better  offer — any  offer — till  you  can  cross 
our  line.  You  can  force  a  crossing?  Yes,  but  we'll  law 
you,  badger  you,  carry  the  case  from  court  to  court  up 
to  the  privy  council  —  two  years  won't  make  an  end. 


THE  SETTLER 

In  the  meantime — "  He  had  thrown  himself  at  them, 
bearing  down  upon  them  with  all  the  force  of  his  pow 
erful  will,  of  the  furiously  strong  personality  that  had 
crushed  financial  opposition  to  plans  and  projects  be 
side  which  their  enterprise  was  as  a  grain  of  sand  to  the 
ocean.  Now,  in  a  flash,  he  became  again  the  polished 
host.  ' '  Take  your  time,  gentlemen.  We  are  in  no  hurry. 
Several  days,  if  you  choose.  But — be  advised." 

But  big,  strong,  and  masterful  as  the  manager  was, 
every  Goliath  has  his  David,  and  the  first  stone  in  the 
forehead  came  from  the  sling  of  Smythe — Smythe,  who 
had  hardly  opened  his  mouth  through  the  meal  save  for 
the  admittance  of  food  or  drink.  Banging  the  table  so 
that  the  glass  rang  and  a  champagne  bowl  flew  from  its 
thin  stem,  he  sprang  up,  his  dark  face  flushed  and  defiant. 
"We'll  take  neither  your  advice  nor  your  time!  God 
knows  that  we  are  hard  shoved,  but  damn  a  man  who 
sells  his  country!  And  since  you  have  been  so  out 
spoken,  let  me  tell  you  that  we'll  run  trains  across  your 
line,  and  that  inside — " 

"This  hour."  In  its  quiet  assurance,  Carter's  inter 
polation  came  with  all  the  force  of  an  accomplished  fact. 
The  manager  started,  and  the  division  superintendent 
upset  his  wine.  As  their  backs  were  to  the  door,  neither 
saw  a  waiter  take  a  telegram  from  a  messenger-boy,  and 
sign  for  its  delivery  after  a  glance  at  the  clock,  which 
indicated  half-past  nine.  Nor  could  either  fact  have  the 
significance  for  them  that  their  combination  had  for 
Carter. 

The  manager  recovered  his  poise  even  as  the  waiter 
handed  the  telegram  to  his  colleague,  and,  though  puzzled, 
hid  the  feeling  behind  a  show  of  confident  contempt.  "  I 
hardly  gather  your  meaning,  but  presume  you  mean- 
war?" 

Missing  the  superintendent's  sudden  consternation,  he 

312 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CINCH 

was  going  on.  "Very  well.  I  had  hoped — "  when  the 
former  pulled  his  sleeve.  ''What's  this?" 

He  stared  blankly  at  the  words:  "Construction -train, 
with  men  and  Gatling-guns,  across  our  tracks  at  Prairie. 
Number  ten,  Western  Mail,  held  up  with  three  hundred 
passengers." 

During  an  astonished  silence,  the  partners  watched  the 
manager,  who  looked  at  Carter,  who  lightly  drummed  on 
the  table.  "Your  train?"  he  went  on,  slowly,  with 
words  that  evidenced  his  flashing  insight  into  the  situa 
tion.  "Hum!  Sawdust,  eh ?  Came  down  the  spur  you 
laid  to  the  Portage  Mills  at  Prairie ;  grabbed  our  opera 
tor;  then  extended  the  mill-switch  across  our  tracks. 
Know  how  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  don't  you?" 

During  a  second  silence  he  fenced  glances,  nervously 
fingering  the  telegram,  then  suddenly  asked:  "What's 
the  use  ?  You  can't  hold  it  ?" 

"With  two  Gatlings  and  five  hundred  men — five  thou 
sand,  if  I  need  them?" 

"The  law's  against  you." 

"As  it  is  against  you  at  the  crossing.  Possession  is 
said  to  be  nine  of  its  points,  anyway,  so  we  have  you 
just  nine-tenths  to  the  bad. ' '  Slightly  smiling,  he  quoted : 
"'We'll  law  you,  badger  you,  carry  the  case  from  court 
to  court  up  to  the  privy  council — two  years  won't  make 
an  end.'" 

The  manager  raised  heavy  lids.  "In  three  months 
we'll  break  you." 

Carter  shrugged.  "Who  knows ?  In  the  mean  time — 
your  traffic  will  be  suspended  ?" 

Through  all  the  superintendent  had  fidgeted  nervous 
ly;  now  he  broke  in:  "Pish,  man!  We'll  build  round 
your  old  train  in  six  hours." 

"Will  you?"  Without  even  a  glance  in  his  direction, 
Carter  ran  on,  addressing  the  manager:  "You  see,  land 


THE  SETTLER 

is  that  cheap  since  the  boom  that  we  took  options  on  a 
right  of  way  from  Prairie  clean  up  to  the  north  pole  and 
down  to  the  American  border.  No,  you  won't  go  around 
us,  but  we  shall  go  round  you  and  come  into  this  burg 
south  of  your  tracks." 

"But  you're  out  of  law,"  the  superintendent  angrily 
persisted.  "You  haven't  the  shadow  of  a  right — " 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Sparks,"  the  manager  impatiently  inter 
rupted.  "What  has  right  to  do  with  it?  He's  got  us 
in  the  door  and  it's  no  use  squealing.  Now  " — the  glance 
he  turned  on  Carter  was  evenly  compounded  of  hostility 
and  admiration — "terms?  You'll  release  our  train — " 

"When  you  cede  our  legal  crossing,  and  call  off  your 
dogs.  We'll  hold  Prairie  till  every  man  Jack  of  your 
guards  is  shipped  out  of  the  city." 

"Could  you  have  the  papers  drawn — "  He  had  in 
tended  "to-night,"  but  he  paused  as  Greer  drew  them 
from  an  inner  pocket  and  his  iron  calm  dissolved  in 
comical  disgust.  "Hum!  You're  not  timid  about  grab 
bing  time  by  the  forelock.  But,  let  me  see!" 

Once  more  the  arc  lights  could  be  heard  sputtering. 
In  that  tense  moment  their  own  fortunes  swung  in  the 
balance  with  the  welfare  of  a  province,  and  while  the 
manager  read  they  waited  in  silence.  Trimming  the 
end  of  a  cigar  with  careful  precision,  Carter  masked  all 
feeling,  but  the  partners  could  not  hide  their  nervous 
ness — Smythe  fidgeted,  Greer  locked  and  unlocked 
clasped  fingers.  Both  held  their  breath  till  the  man 
ager's  pen  made  a  rough  scratch  on  the  silence. 

A  good  loser,  he  said,  as  Greer  rose  after  buttoning 
his  coat  over  the  precious  document:  "Don't  go,  gen 
tlemen — at  least  till  we  have  drunk  the  occasion.  I  see 
another  bottle  there  in  the  ice." 

And  his  toast,  "To  our  next  merry  meeting,"  formed 
the  premise  of  the  deduction  which  Carter  returned  to 

3M 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  CINCH 

Greer's  relieved  exclamation  when  they  stood,  at  last, 
alone  in  the  street. 

"Thank  God!     It  is  over!" 

"On  the  contrary,  it  is  just  begun." 

Passing  under  a  street  lamp,  its  white  light  revealed 
the  pale  disturbance  which  banished  the  senior  partner's 
flushed  content.  Stopping  dead,  he  agitatedly  seized 
Carter's  arm. 

"You  don't  suppose  he  will  go  back  on  his — " 

"Signature?  No,  he  won't  repeat.  He's  done  with 
the  crossing." 

"Then  we  can  weather  through,"  Greer  said,  and 
Smythe  echoed  his  sigh  of  relief. 

"But — •"  Carter  quoted  the  bucolic  proverb  which 
recites  the  many  ways  in  which  a  pig  may  be  killed  other 
than  by  a  surfeit  of  butter. 

"But  what  can  he  do?"  Greer  persisted. 

"Don't  know,"  Carter  slowly  answered.  "Only  a 
man  don't  have  to  look  at  that  bull-dog  jaw  of  his  a 
second  time  to  know  that  he'll  do  it,  and  do  it  quick." 

"I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  know,"  Smythe  frowned,  then 
smoothed  his  knotted  brow  as  he  laughed  at  Carter's 
rejoinder. 

"I'd  give  three  cents  myself." 

Not  feeling  sleepy,  Carter  walked  on  after  he  had 
dropped  the  partners  at  their  respective  doors,  aim 
lessly  threading  the  dark  streets  that  gave  back  his 
hollow  foot -fall ;  and  so  passing,  by  chance,  under  Helen's 
window,  he  brought  a  pause  in  the  anxious  meditation 
which  had  kept  her  restlessly  tossing,  and  set  her  to 
momentary  speculations  as  to  the  owner  of  that  firm 
and  heavy  tread.  She  listened,  listened  till  it  grew 
fainter  and  died  as  he  turned  the  corner.  Keeping  on 
in  the  cool  silence,  he  presently  came  to  the  Red  River 
suspension  bridge,  where  he  paused  and  leaned  on  the 


THE  SETTLER 

parapet  at  the  very  spot  from  which  she  loved  to  watch 
Indians  and  chattering  squaws  float  beneath  in  quaint 
birch  canoes.  There  was,  of  course,  nothing  to  warn 
him  of  the  fact  any  more  than  she  could  have  guessed 
him  as  owner  of  the  solitary  foot-fall.  He  thought  of  her, 
to  be  sure.  Always  she  stood  in  the  background,  ready 
to  claim  him  whenever  press  of  affairs  permitted  reflec 
tion;  and  now  she  thrust  in  between  him  and  the  twin 
kling  lights  of  the  sleeping  city.  Where  was  she  ?  And 
doing — what  ?  How  much  longer  before  he  could  go  in 
search  of  her?  After  long  musing  he  swept  the  weary 
intervening  days  away  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and 
his  longing  took  form  in  muttered  speech: 
"How  long?  My  God!  how  much  longer?" 
The  thought  brought  him  back  to  his  work  and  the 
events  of  the  evening.  What  would  be  the  manager's 
next  move  ?  He  gazed  down  into  the  dark  river  intently, 
as  though  he  expected  its  hoarse  voice  to  give  answer. 
But  though  he  canvassed,  as  he  thought,  every  possi 
bility,  the  reality — which  presented  itself  a  week  or  so 
after  he  resumed  operations  in  the  Silver  Creek  forests — 
was  beyond  the  range  of  his  thought. 


XXVIII 

THE    STRIKE 

A 5  aforesaid,  it  was  the  unexpected  that  opposed 
Carter  with  a  visage  of  stony  calm  when  he  came 
from  Winnipeg  out  to  the  "Ragged  Lands"  a  week  or  so 
later.  For  whereas  he  had  left  the  camp  convulsed  in 
throes  of  constructive  labor,  the  whistle  of  his  engine 
raised  piercing  echoes;  no  other  sounds  disturbed  the 
sleeping  forest.  In  the  cut  south  of  the  camp  he  passed 
the  big  digger,  at  rest  from  the  roar,  rattle,  and  clank 
of  chains,  hiss  of  escaping  steam.  The  pile-driver  loomed 
idly  on  a  distant  trestle.  When  engine  and  caboose 
stopped  opposite  the  cook-house,  he  saw  that  the  camp — 
which  ought  to  have  been  empty — teemed  with  men. 

He  shrugged  when  Hart,  who  was  with  him,  ex 
claimed  in  wonder:  "Can't  prove  it  by  me.  But  we'll 
soon  know.  There's  Bender — coming  from  the  office." 

"Strike,"  the  giant  replied  to  their  questioning. 
"Teamsters,  graders,  bridge  and  track  men,  all  went  out 
at  noon.  What  for?  God  knows;  but  I  allow  that 
Buckle  could  tell.  He  wasn't  hanging  round  the  Winni 
peg  camp  for  nothing.  I'm  sorry  now — "  His  bunched 
fists,  big  as  mauls,  fully  explained  his  regret,  and  in 
dicating  a  group  which  was  arranging  its  progress  so  as 
to  make  the  office  door  with  Carter,  he  finished:  "But 
if  you're  hankering  for  reasons,  consult  them  gentlemen. 
It's  a  depytation — by  its  scowl.  An'  it's  loaded  to  the 
muzzle  with  statistics  to  fire  at  you." 


THE  SETTLER 

Following  his  finger,  Carter  noted  that  Michigan  Red 
was  of  the  deputation,  but  when  it  ranged  up  at  the  tent 
door  in  sheepish  yet  defiant  array,  that  worthy  hung 
modestly  in  the  rear,  permitting  a  big  teamster  from  the 
Silver  Creek  settlements  to  act  as  spokesman.  Blunt, 
honest,  tenacious  as  a  bull-dog  in  holding  to  an  idea, 
the  man  was  an  ideal  tool  for  unscrupulous  hands;  but 
though  he  instantly  divined  the  reasons  behind  his 
leadership,  Carter  listened  quietly  to  his  tale — the  old 
tale — overwork,  poor  food,  underpay. 

His  answer  was  equally  quiet.  "You  are  certainly 
to  be  pitied,  Bill;  breaks  me  all  up  just  to  think  of  your 
wrongs.  I've  always  admired  your  thrift,  and  I  sym 
pathize  with  your  desire  to  raise  the  mortgage  off  your 
farm.  Took  you  five  years  to  put  it  on,  didn't  it,  Bill  ? 
And  you  are  calculating  to  pay  it  off  in  the  next  two 
months.  Well,  perhaps — but  you'll  have  to  screw  it  out 
of  some  one  else  than  me." 

Shuffling  uneasily,  the  teamster  glanced  at  his  back 
ers,  who,  equally  nonplussed,  gazed  at  one  another.  For 
where  an  angry,  or  even  a  plain  answer  would  have  merely 
incited  them  to  dogged  opposition,  this  quiet  ridicule 
sapped  conceit  in  their  cause,  besides  conveying  an 
alarming  suggestion  of  strength  in  reserve. 

"Then  you  don't  allow  to  fall  in  with  our  notions?" 
The  spokesman  returned  after  a  whispered  conference. 

"Meaning — an  hour  less  and  a  dollar  more?  You're 
sure  a  psychic,  Bill;  plumb  wasted  on  railroading. 
Open  an  office  in  town  and  go  to  fortune-telling  and 
you'd  pull  that  plaster  off  your  homestead  inside  a 
month." 

Assured  that  there  was  no  hurry,  that  he  could  take  a 
week  to  consider  the  matter,  he  gravely  added:  "Obliged 
to  you,  Bill;  but  I  don't  allow  to  require  it.  The  world, 
you'll  remember,  was  made  in  six  days,  and  this  isn't 

318 


THE  STRIKE 

near  such  a  big  job.  No  time  like  the  present,  and  here's 
my  answer — same  hours,  same  grub,  same  pay.  It's 
fortune-telling  or  present  rates  for  yours,  Bill." 

Through  all  he  entirely  ignored  the  delegation,  and 
now  he  leaned  in  the  door,  idly  watching  as  it  made  its 
way  across  the  camp  and  was  swallowed  in  the  crowd 
of  strikers  about  the  bunk-house.  But  his  face  fell  as  he 
stepped  inside  beyond  eye  and  ear  shot.  "Serious?" 
he  repeated  Hart's  question.  "Couldn't  be  worse.  Not 
one  of  those  fellows  could  make  a  quarter  of  the  wages 
or  live  half  as  well  on  the  farm,  but  they'd  hog  it  all  if 
I  died  in  the  ditch.  But  there's  more  behind  this  than 
their  spite  and  greed.  You  see,  we  have  just  about  pulled 
old  Murray  in  for  funds  to  make  a  clean  finish,  and  if  he 
gets  wind  of  this  he'll  crawfish  like  a  one-legged  crow. 
I  must  go  back  at  once.  And  you,  Bender — you,  also, 
Hart — see  to  it  that  not  even  a  dog  crawls  out  of  this 
camp  until  I  return." 

"To  keep  these  chaps  guessing,"  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  dark  reflection,  "I'd  better  slip  out  after  dusk. 
You  go  over,  Hart,  and  whisper  the  engineer  to  back  out 
and  wait  for  me  at  the  other  side  of  the  cut.  Mystery  is 
good  as  aces  up  in  any  old  game,  and  we  can't  fog  them 
too  much." 

Pulling  out  at  dark,  he  made  the  run  back  to  town — 
fifty  miles — in  an  hour  and  a  quarter,  reckless  running  on 
unballasted  road.  Murray  must  be  fully  committed  be 
fore  the  news  leaked  out.  We  must  get  him,  must  get 
him,  must,  must,  must!  The  wheels  clicked  it,  the  steam 
hissed  it,  the  fire  roared  it,  the  wind  shrieked  the  im 
perative  refrain.  But  though  Bender  lived  in  the  strict 
letter  of  his  instructions  so  that  a  mosquito  could  scarce 
have  escaped  from  the  camp;  though  a  man  could  not 
have  made  the  distance  in  two  days  on  foot,  or  a  wild 
goose  have  passed  the  throbbing  engine  as  it  bounded 


THE  SETTLER 

along  that  raw  track,  newsboys  were  yet  crying  the 
strike  as  he  came  out  on  Main  Street. 

Feeling  certain  that  the  office  would  be  closed  at  that 
hour,  he  intended  to  go  straight  to  Greer's  house,  but 
seeing  a  light  in  the  partners'  room  as  he  came  opposite 
the  building,  he  went  in  and  found  Smythe  there,  alone. 
With  lean  legs  thrust  out  before  him,  hands  deep  in 
his  pockets,  shoulders  hunched  to  his  ears,  his  atti 
tude  incarnated  deep  dejection;  gloom  resided  in  his 
nod. 

"Greer?"  he  said.  "At  home — sick.  You  see,  we 
were  to  have  closed  the  deal  with  Murray  this  very  even 
ing,  and  the  disappointment  just  knocked  the  old  man 
out.  He's  been  running  altogether  on  his  nerve  lately; 
something  had  to  give.  Why  couldn't  this  have  hap 
pened  a  day  later?" 

Answering  Carter's  question,  he  went  on:  "We  heard 
it  at  noon.  Papers  got  out  an  extra.  Presses  must  have 
been  running  it  off  before  you  left." 

"Noon?"  Carter  whistled.  "Why  the  men  didn't 
quit  till  two!"  Then  as  the  significance  flashed  upon 
him,  he  exclaimed:  "Brass  Bowels  for  a  million!  It 
was  all  cut,  dried,  and  laid  away  for  us,  and  they  served 
it  hot  to  the  minute.  Don't — it — beat — hell!" 

%  His  comical  disgust  caused  Smythe  a  wintry  grin,  but, 
sobering,  he  said:  "I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  for  my 
self.  I'm  young  enough  to  do  it  again.  But  the  old 
gentleman — with  that  nice  family!  You  know  he  was 
just  about  ready  to  retire;  only  took  up  this  business 
from  a  strong  sense  of  public  duty.  And  now,  in  his 
extremity,  every  rat  financier  in  this  city  runs  to  his 
hole  in  fear  of  the  cat.  The  poor  old  man!" 

Carter  nodded  his  sympathy.  On  the  occasions  that 
he  visited  their  house,  Greer's  wife,  a  silver-haired  old 
lady,  had  vied  with  her  two  daughters  in  pleasant  atten- 

320 


THE  STRIKE 

tions.  But  it  did  not  require  that  thought  to  stir  him 
to  action. 

"Oh,  here!"  he  laughed.  "We  are  not  dead  yet.  To 
morrow  I'll  go  the  round  of  the  employment  offices 
and—" 

Smythe  threw  up  his  hands,  a  gesture  eloquent  of 
despair.  "  Went  round  myself — this  afternoon.  Harvest 
is  on  and  men  scarcer  than  diamonds.  Besides,  Brass 
Bowels  has  left  an  order  with  every  agency  in  town  to 
ship  every  man  they  can  get  west  to  the  mountains." 

"Um-m!"  Carter  thought  a  while.  "Then  we'll  have 
to  play  the  last  card." 

"The  last  card?"     Smythe  raised  his  eyebrows. 

' '  Yes,  biggest  trump  in  the  pack.     How  long  before — ' ' 

"Oh,  they  can't  touch  us  for  two  months." 

"Good!  Now  listen."  Glancing  around  as  though 
distrustful  of  the  very  walls,  he  whispered  in  Smythe's 
ear  for  a  minute  that  saw  the  latter's  dejection  dissolve 
in  new-born  hope.  "You  must  go  with  me,"  he  finished, 
aloud.  "While  you  pack  your  grip,  I'll  drop  round  and 
see  Greer.  He  must  be  here  to-morrow  to  carry  out  the 
bluff.  And  hurry — for  we  must  make  it  down  and  back 
before  we  are  missed." 


XXIX 

THE     BLUFF 

IT  was  the  fifth  day  of  the  strike,  and  still  no  sound  of 
labor  disturbed  the  sleeping  forest.  Quiet  and  calm, 
like  that  of  the  Sabbath,  brooded  over  the  camp,  but  not 
its  peace,  for,  being  well  rested,  the  strikers  chafed  under 
inaction,  moving  restlessly  among  the  buildings.  Mich 
igan  Red,  to  be  sure,  was  dealing  interminable  poker  on 
a  blanket  under  a  tree,  while  the  younger  men  skylarked 
or  tried  one  another  out  in  games,  but  neither  forms  of 
amusement  appealed  to  the  older  and  more  thrifty  Ca 
nadians.  Secret  disquiet,  moreover,  underlay  even  the 
nonchalance  of  the  gamblers,  for  Bender's  mysterious 
looks  and  Carter's  continued  absence  were  rapidly  dis 
integrating  the  strikers'  confidence. 

"He  ain't  here,"  the  giant  had  answered,  when  the 
committee  had  called  for  another  conference,  and  to 
further  questioning  he  had  returned  an  irritating  grin. 
"When  will  he  be  back?  That's  for  us  to  know  an'  you 
to  find  out."  And  so,  shorn  of  its  functions,  the  com 
mittee  had  languished  like  a  moulting  peacock.  In  ad 
dition,  the  cook's  ominous  visage  at  meal-times  bade 
the  strikers  beware  that  the  curse  of  labor  still  clung  to 
the  fruits  of  the  earth;  and  the  fact  that  almost  a 
month's  back  pay  rested  in  Carter's  hands,  served  as  a 
text  and  lent  force  to  the  unpreached  sermon.  What  if 
he  never  came  back  ?  The  history  of  Western  construc 
tion  abounded  with  cases  of  absconding  contractors,  and 

322 


THE  BLUFF 

the  hostility  of  the  monopoly  lent  substance  to  the 
doubt.  Most  of  them  would  have  hailed  Carter's  ad 
vent,  just  then,  with  real  if  secret  pleasure,  and  the 
general  uneasiness  manifested  itself  in  a  grumbling 
remark  made  as  Michigan  Red  raked  a  fat  "jack-pot" 
into  his  winnings. 

"You're  the  only  one  that's  making  anything  these 
days." 

"That's  right,"  another  grumbler  added.  "An'  what's 
more,  if  we're  out  another  five  days  the  raise  won't  pull 
us  even  by  freeze-up.  Ten  days  lost  at  three-fifty  is 
thirty-five  dollars.  Take  the  extra  dollar  seven  weeks 
to  make  it  up — -if  the  frost  holds  off  that  long." 

Apparently  indifferent,  Michigan  went  on  with  his 
deal.  "You're  hell  at  figures,  Chalky.  Where'd  you 
learn?  Figuring  interest  on  your  mortgage?  How 
many  cards,  Bill?" 

But  Bill,  spokesman  of  the  committee,  laid  down  his 
hand.  ' '  Look  here,  Red !  Chalky 's  right.  If  we  hadn't 
struck  we'd  have  had  a  pay-day  yesterday,  an'  if  we're 
standing  to  lose  that  much  we  can't  call  it  off  too  soon 
for  me." 

"Nor  me." 

"Nor  me."  The  voices,  pitched  in  altercation,  had 
brought  the  idlers  crowding,  and  the  support  came  in 
from  all  around. 

Michigan's  teeth  gleamed  white  through  his  red  beard 
while  his  bleak  eyes  took  stock  of  the  crowding  faces  as 
though  calculating  just  how  far  envy  and  avarice  would 
take  them.  "You  don't  stand  to  lose  a  cent,  Bill. 
They've  got  to  finish  the  contrac'  before  freeze-up  to 
reach  the  tie  an'  lumber-camps.  Otherwise  the  road  '11 
be  idle  all  winter,  an'  what's  a  few  days'  pay  alongside 
the  freight  on  a  hundred  million  feet  of  lumber.  He's 
got  to  finish  it.  If  he  kain't" — pausing,  he  distributed 

323 


THE  SETTLER 

a  significant  nod  around  the  circle — "there's  others  as 
kin  an'  will." 

"But  what  if  he  don't  come  back?" 

To  the  question  which  expressed  the  most  pregnant 
doubt,  he  returned  a  second  meaning  nod.  "Same 
folks  '11  make  good." 

"Back  pay?"  Bill  pressed. 

"Back  pay." 

"On  whose  say  so?" 

"Ain't  mine  good  enough?"  Ruffling,  he  turned  a 
stream  of  fierce  profanity  upon  Carrots  Smith,  his  ques 
tioner.  "Want  Bible  and  oath  for  yours,  eh?  There's 
some  things  that  kain't  be  told  to  idiots — " 

"Yes,  yes,  Red!"  Bill  soothed.  "We  know— that's  all 
right,  Red.  Don't  mind  him,  he's  only  a  suckling  kid." 

"Sure,  Red!  You  know  what  you're  talking  about. 
Go  on!"  others  chorused,  and  having  gained  his  point  by 
the  show  of  anger,  real  or  false,  the  teamster  allowed  him 
self  to  be  placated. 

"If  'twas  necessary,"  he  continued,  "we  could  tie  up 
the  road  with  a  laborer's  lien.  But  'twon't  be — I  have 
somebody's  word  for  it.  If  Carter  goes  under,  we  jes' 
go  right  on." 

"With  the  raise?" 

"With  the  raise." 

"But  if  he  comes  back?"  Chalky  raised  another  doubt. 
"What  about  lost  time?  Freeze-up  is  freeze-up,  an'  we 
kain't  make  it  up  if  we're  docked  for  the  lay-off." 

"That's  easy.  Who's  to  blame  for  it  ?"  He  threw  it 
at  the  circle. 

"Him!     He  wouldn't  give  the  raise." 

"Then  let  him  pay  for  his  fun.  We've  got  him  coming 
or  going,  an'  we  draw  time,  at  the  new  rates,  for  every 
idle  day  before  we  touch  a  tool.  Ain't  that  right?" 

It  was  not,  yet  his  crooked  logic  exactly  matched  their 

324 


THE  BLUFF 

envious  cupidity.  Confidence  once  more  returned;  the 
younger  men  returned  to  their  sports;  Bill  picked  up  his 
hand,  and  the  game  proceeded  until  interrupted,  a  half- 
hour  later,  by  a  sudden  shout  and  shrill  neighing  from 
the  horse  lines. 

"The  stallion's  loose!" 

Shouting,  the  roustabout  tore  across  the  clearing  and 
just  escaped  the  rush  of  the  vicious  brute  by  nimbly 
climbing  the  projecting  logs  at  the  cook-house  corners. 
At  his  cry,  a  youth  dropped  the  shot  he  had  poised  for  a 
throw,  the  gamblers  their  cards,  and,  balking  in  the  take 
off  for  a  broad  jump,  Carrots  Smith  led  the  rush  for 
cover.  A  minute  saw  them  all  on  top  of  cook  or  bunk 
houses,  and  thus  defrauded  of  his  preference,  the  stallion 
ran  amuck  among  the  horses  which  were  tied  at  long  hay 
racks,  kicking,  rearing,  biting.  Though  built  massively 
of  logs,  the  racks  gave  way  with  splintering  crashes  under 
the  combined  pull  of  a  hundred  frightened  beasts;  and 
bunching,  the  string  tore  round  the  clearing,  squealing 
their  fear. 

To  give  the  beast  ease  with  his  oats,  Michigan  had 
removed  the  iron  muzzle  according  to  his  custom,  and 
now,  a  free,  wild  thing,  he  bounded  along  in  hot  pursuit, 
curveting,  caracoling,  Satanic  in  his  jet-black  beauty. 
Tossing  his  wild  mane,  he  would  call  the  mares  with 
stridulous  cachinnations,  yet  for  all  his  exultant  passion 
left  them  to  chase  a  belated  teamster,  nose  lowered,  ears 
wickedly  pricked,  thrice  around  the  cook-house.  Balked 
again,  he  reared,  kicked,  and  was  plunging  once  more 
after  the  string  when  a  whistle  outshrilled  his  neigh,  and 
an  engine  with  caboose  attached  rolled  out  of  the  cut 
south  of  the  camp. 

But  for  the  pounding  hoofs,  the  collective  whisper, 
"It's  the  boss!"  would  have  carried  to  Carter,  who,  with 
Smythe,  stood  looking  out  at  the  door  of  the  caboose; 
"  32S 


THE  SETTLER 

and  his  first  remark,  "Regular  circus,  isn't  it?"  was 
eminently  applicable  to  the  situation.  Upholding  the 
sky's  blue  roof,  black  spruce  cones  formed  bulky  pillars 
for  the  natural  amphitheatre  in  which  the  horses  circled 
and  recircled,  a  kicking,  squealing  stream,  before  the 
audience  on  the  roofs. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Smythe  exclaimed,  as  Carter 
leaped  to  the  ground. 

"To  rope  that  beast  before  he  runs  a  season's  flesh  off 
the  teams.  There's  a  riata  in  the  office." 

"Better  shoot  him,"  Smythe  counselled.  "Here!  come 
back!"  But  he  was  already  half-way  across  the  clear 
ing. 

Choosing  his  time,  he  passed  from  the  smithy  to  the 
bunk-house,  thence  to  the  cook-house,  and  so  working 
from  building  to  building  under  the  eyes  of  his  men,  he 
gained  the  office  at  last  and  shot  in,  barely  escaping  the 
mad  cavalcade.  As  he  emerged,  coiling  the  riata,  Smythe's 
gaze  drew  to  a  second  actor  in  this  woodland  drama. 

When  the  poker  players  broke  for  cover,  Michigan 
Red  had  paused  long  enough  to  pocket  the  stakes  along 
with  his  winnings,  then  picking  up  the  blanket  he  walked 
over  to  the  cook-house,  and  had  watched  all  from  the 
angle  formed  by  the  jutting  corner  logs.  "A  bit  closer 
would  have  suited  better,"  he  had  grumbled,  as  Carter's 
last  rush  carried  him  from  under  the  hoofs.  Now  he 
commented:  "Going  to  rope  him,  are  you?  Not  if  I 
know  it."  Knowledge  of  his  fellows'  liability  to  lapses 
of  hero-worship  inhered  in  his  conclusion.  "If  there's 
to  be  gran'stan'  plays  I'll  make  'em  myself." 

"Fools!"  he  snarled,  as  the  beat  of  feet  warned  him 
that  the  strikers  on  the  roof  were  watching  Carter,  who 
had  taken  position  behind  the  next  corner.  He  heard 
also  the  swish  of  the  circling  noose,  its  quickened  whir 
as  the  horses  swooped  around  on  the  next  lap;  then,  just 

326 


THE  BLUFF 

as  the  band  passed,  he  sprang  out,  uttering  a  sudden 
harsh  command,  directly  in  the  stallion's  path. 

A  desperate  play,  it  drew  gambler's  luck.  A  frontier 
superstition  has  it  that  the  equine  eye  magnifies  objects, 
and  whether  or  no  the  red  teamster  with  his  pale-green 
face  loomed  in  the  stallion's  sight  as  some  huge  and  pas 
sionate  fiend,  he  reared  back  on  strung  haunches,  plough 
ing  the  sod  in  a  desperate  effort  to  stop ;  and  while  he  hung 
in  mid-air,  Michigan  stepped  and  threw  his  blanket,  mata 
dor-fashion,  over  the  ugly  head.  As  the  brute  settled 
on  all-fours  and  stood  shivering,  Michigan  turned,  grin 
ning,  to  reap  the  fruit  of  his  daring. 

But  his  grin  quickly  faded,  for,  flashing  on  to  his  pur 
pose,  Carter  had  swung  and  roped  the  rat-tailed  mare, 
the  stallion's  mate,  as  the  band  flew  by.  Worse!  Mich 
igan  choked.  Almost  every  man  in  camp  had  a  grudge 
against  the  mare,  some  vicious  lunge  or  graze  from  her 
snapping  teeth,  so  a  dozen  strikers  had  jumped  and  were 
helping  Carter  to  choke  her  down,  while  the  others 
cheered  them  on  with  approving  laughter. 

Furious,  he  yelled :  ' '  What's  the  matter  with  you  chaps 
up  there?  Taken  to  roosting  like  chickens?  I'd  like  a 
picture  of  the  bunch,  it  ud  pass  anywhere  for  a  Methodist 
convention.  An'  you  fellows  quit  yanking  that  mare. 
'Tain't  tug-o'-war  you're  playing."  But  he  made  small 
headway  against  the  uproarious  tide  of  yells  and  laughter, 
and,  remembering  his  snub,  Carrots  Smith  shouted  back, 
"She's  doin'  most  of  the  pulling,  an'  if  she  wants  to  hang, 
why  let  her." 

Worst  of  all,  it  was  Carter  who  finally  interfered  on 
behalf  of  the  struggling  brute,  and  Michigan  chafed  at 
the  ready  obedience  accorded  his  orders. 

"Thought  you  fellows  was  on  strike?"  he  growled  at 
Brady,  the  Irish  teamster,  as  he  retied  the  stallion  in 
the  horse  lines. 

327 


THE  SETTLER 

But  wrathfully  indicating  a  bloody  bruise  on  his  own 
horse,  the  Irishman  hotly  retorted,  "Faith,  thin,  an' 
that's  no  sign  that  we'll  be  lettin'  them  murthering  brutes 
av  yourn  chew  the  necks  av  our  teams?  If  they  was 
mine,  I'd  make  wolf -meat  av  the  pair  before  supper." 

Michigan  sneered.  ' '  Didn't  I  ketch  him  myself  ?  An* 
then  you  fellows  had  to  go  running  your  legs  off  to  suit 
him.  Keep  it  up,  an*  it's  you  an*  your  strike  that'll  be 
made  into  hash  for  his  supper." 

While  Michigan  thus  tried  to  scotch  incipient  sympathy 
with  rough  sarcasm,  Carter  carried  with  him  to  the  office 
the  comfortable  assurance  that  fortune  had  turned  down 
to  him  this  accidental  trick  in  a  difficult  game.  Shrug 
ging  deprecation  of  Hart's  admiring  comments  on  his  skill 
with  the  riata,  he  returned  a  reminiscence  of  his  cow- 
punching  days  to  Smythe's  chidings,  asserting  that  the 
stallion  was  not  a  circumstance  to  a  long-horn  steer  on 
an  open  prairie.  While  talking,  he  helped  to  arrange 
the  contents  of  Smythe's  grip  on  the  rough  table,  piling 
greenbacks  by  denominations  between  flanking  columns 
of  silver,  an  imposing  array. 

"No  hurry,"  he  said,  when  Hart  asked  if  he  should 
call  the  men,  and,  lighting  a  cigar,  he  drawled  a  story 
which  at  one  time  explained  his  reason  and  illumined 
his  plan.  "I  remember  a  kid  who  won  three  sizes  out 
of  his  class  by  a  little  judicious  waiting.  His  dad  had 
set  him  a  spading  stint  in  the  back  lot,  and  when  this 
other  boy  brings-to  on  the  sidewalk  and  begins  to  heave 
belligerencies  over  the  fence,  he  answers,  that  calm  and 
deliberate  that  you'd  never  think  he  was  burying  his 
heart  under  every  spadeful,  '  Jes'  you  wait  till  I  finish  my 
patch.'  And  he  goes  on  digging  so  cheerfully  that  the 
other  kid  is  a  mite  staggered.  As  I  say,  he  was  about 
three  sizes  to  the  good,  but  as  you'll  remember,  Napo 
leon's  Old  Guard  could  put  it  all  over  a  young  lady's 

328 


THE  BLUFF 

seminary  for  hysteria  if  it  was  kept  too  long  waiting. 
Watching  that  slow  spade,  this  lad's  imagination  went 
to  working  so  hard  that  he  fought  that  fight  thirteen 
times  in  as  many  minutes,  and  felt  that  used  up  he  just 
ran  like  a  March  hare  when  the  other  kid  stuck  his  spade 
in  the  trench.  The  wise  kid?"  He  twinkled  on  Hart. 
"I  was  that  glad,  I  played  hookey  from  school  an'  won 
a  licking  from  the  old  man  five  sizes  larger  than  I'd  have 
got  from  the  boy.  But  it  was  worth  it.  I  learned  that 
it  always  pays  to  give  it  time  to  soak  in." 

Outside  the  strikers  furnished  a  vivid  illustration  of 
that  lesson  during  the  next  three  hours  he  kept  them 
waiting.  Grouping,  they  made  loud  mouths  at  first, 
over  supposititious  wrongs  or  affected  indifference  that 
was  belied  by  uneasy  glances  officeward.  Less  loqua 
cious  at  the  end  of  the  first  hour,  the  second  left  them 
sullen  and  silent;  the  third,  eaten  by  suspense.  They 
started,  as  at  a  sudden  explosion,  when  Bender  finally 
came  out;  stared  blankly  when  he  announced  that  the 
boss  was  waiting  to  pay  off  the  camp. 

Affording  no  time  for  recovery,  Hart  called  the  first 
name  on  the  pay-roll,  and  Bender's  stentorian  bass  sent 
it  rolling  into  the  woods.  "Anderson!  Anderson! 
Hurry  up,  Anderson!" 

The  name  chanced  to  be  the  property  of  Bill,  the 
spokesman,  but  though  used  as  little  as  his  Sunday 
clothes,  there  was  more  than  unfamiliarity  behind  his 
slowness.  More  tenacious  of  idea,  as  aforesaid,  than 
quick  of  wit,  Bill  now  found  himself  without  plan,  prece 
dent,  or  time  for  counsel  in  these  unexpected  premises, 
nor  could  he  draw  inspiration  from  the  blank  looks  of  his 
fellows. 

"Hurry  up,  Anderson!"  Bender  crossly  repeated;  and 
starting  as  though  touched  in  some  secret  spring,  Bill 
lurched  forward  and  in,  and  so  found  himself  facing  Car- 

329 


THE  SETTLER 

ter,   Hart,   and  Smythe  behind  an  awesome  financial 

array. 

Never  before  had  Bill  seen  so  much  money  at  once — 
even  in  dreams;  it  totalled  more  than  the  hard  earnings 
of  his  forty -odd  years;  would  have  paid  his  mortgage  ten 
times  over.  The  substance  of  modern  power,  its  glitter 
challenged  the  loud-mouthed  assertions  of  him  and  his 
fellows  that,  given  the  same  luck,  they  could  have  done 
as  well  as  Carter.  By  the  light  of  its  golden  glow,  Bill 
saw  himself  very  weak  and  small  and  foolish.  At  home 
he  seldom  saw  a  dollar;  had  trouble  in  scraping  up  cur 
rency  enough  to  pay  his  taxes,  and  effected  his  barterings 
at  the  store  in  truck  and  trade.  With  his  doubts  settled 
as  to  the  solvency  of  the  firm,  Bill  was  suddenly  afflicted 
with  a  suspicion  that  he  had  made  the  biggest  kind  of  a 
fool  of  himself. 

Correctly  interpreting  his  glance  at  the  table,  Carter 
gave  him  a  genial  smile.  "Yes,  Bill;  but  you  don't  get 
it  by  laying  off.  Here's  your  bit.  Touch  the  pen  and — 
Five  dollars  short?  Board  and  feed  for  five  days,  Bill. 
Man  earns  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  you  know. 
Pass  on,  and  don't  forget  to  remember  me  to  your  wife 
when  you  gain  home." 

As  with  Bill,  so  the  others.  Filing  in,  they  testified, 
one  by  deeper  sullenness,  others  by  attempts  at  a  swag 
ger,  to  the  influences  which  had  wrought  on  him.  Few 
attained  the  easy  insolence  of  Michigan  Red,  who  de 
manded  an  itemized  account  of  his  store  bill  and  insisted 
on  signing  the  roll  with  his  own  hand.  Touching  the 
pen,  railroad  fashion,  they  passed  out,  while  Hart  signed 
for  them,  to  add  their  doub tings  to  the  general  mystifi 
cation. 

What  was  forward?  Had  Carter  obtained  new  crews, 
or  would  the  company  close  down  work?  As  the  line 
still  fell  thirty  miles  short  of  the  northern  settlements, 

330 


THE  BLUFF 

the  latter  thought  filled  the  minds  of  the  Silver  Creek 
men,  who  saw  themselves  left  marketlessby  their  own  act, 
with  sick  misery ;  brought  pause  to  their  envious  cupid 
ity,  despite  Michigan's  assurances  that  it  was  all  a  bluff. 

"Tain't,"  Bill  Anderson  contradicted  him.  "I  was  just 
over  to  the  cook-house  for  a  drink,  an'  the  cook  has  orders 
to  serve  no  meals  after  breakfast  to-morrow  morning." 

"That  so?"  a  dozen  voices  questioned. 

"  Ask  for  yourselves.  He's  at  the  door  now  calling  to 
supper." 

And  the  cook  confirmed  the  report,  adding,  moreover, 
his  mite  to  their  discomfiture  by  malignantly  animad 
verting  upon  the  manages  to  which  they  were  about  to 
return.  "My  cooking  don't  suit,  eh?"  demanded  the 
offended  artist.  "It's  pertatoes  an'  sow-belly  for  yours 
after  this.  In  a  month  you  won't  be  able  to  tell  your 
ribs  from  a  rail  corral."  And  truth  so  flavored  his  rail 
ings  that  they  saw,  in  fancy,  themselves  looking  back 
from  their  prairie  farms  upon  his  rude  but  plentiful  flesh- 
pots — at  which  ripe  moment  the  door  opened  to  admit 
Carter,  Smythe,  and  Bender. 

Pausing  at  the  end  of  the  centre  table,  Carter  glanced 
over  the  rows  of  faces  which  turned  curiously  up  to  him 
as  on  the  occasion  that  marked  the  beginnings  of  his  fight 
for  mastery  in  the  cook-house  at  the  winter  camp.  Very 
fittingly,  setting  and  persona  for  this  last  act  of  a  long 
struggle  were  almost  the  same  as  the  first.  Hines  and 
the  Cougar,  to  be  sure,  were  gone  over  the  Great  Divide. 
Strangers  sat  in  place  of  Shinn  and  the  handful  that  re 
turned  to  their  farms  after  the  log-drive.  But  here  were 
the  tables,  a-bristle  with  tinware ;  dim  lanterns,  dependent 
from  the  low  pole-roof ;  the  faces,  peering  from  Rembrandt 
shadows,  fiercely  animal,  pregnant  with  possibilities  such 
as  have  reddened  the  snows  of  many  a  forest  camp.  Over 
looking  them  now,  at  the  climax  of  a  year-long  play,  he 

331 


THE  SETTLER 

could  not  but  thrill  to  the  thought  that  whereas  they 
had  opposed  him  at  every  turn,  those  iron  impresarios, 
the  Fates,  had  left  choice  of  endings  with  him,  author  of 
the  drama.  It  was  his  to  crush  or  spare — to  crush  and 
gain  the  cringing  respect  which  they  accorded  to  frost, 
drought,  pestilence,  stern  henchmen  of  the  illimitable;  to 
spare  and  attain  next  place  to  a  fair  potato-crop  in  their 
esteem;  to  manage  them  for  their  and  his  own  good. 

To  the  latter  end  he  bent  his  words,  addressing  them, 
half  jocularly,  in  their  own  argot.  "Well,  boys,  we've 
played  our  game  to  a  finish,  but  before  we  throw  away 
the  deck  let's  count  tricks.  I  don't  blame  you  for  strik 
ing.  You  have  a  right  to  sell  your  labor  in  the  dearest 
market  as  I  have  to  buy  mine  in  the  cheapest.  You 
simply  asked  more  than  I  felt  able  to  pay,  so  while  you 
rested  I  took  a  jaunt  down  to  the  States  to  see  how  you 
stood  on  the  market.  What  did  I  find  ?  First  let  us  take 
a  look  at  your  hand. 

"What  do  you  hold?  Harvest  is  half  over  and  the 
wheat  farmers  from  the  Portage  to  Brandon  and  down 
to  the  Pipestone  have  hired  their  help  at  two  dollars  a 
day.  No  betterment  there.  You  can't  break  prairie  in 
the  fall,  so  there's  nothing  at  home  except  eating,  and 
the  lumber-camps  don't  open  up  before  the  snows.  On 
the  other  hand,  your  stake  in  this  line  is  as  big  as  mine. 
Unfinished,  you  are  without  the  markets  you  have  been 
shouting  for  these  years;  finished,  it  lets  in  American 
competition  and  trebles  your  values  in  land."  Pausing, 
he  shook  his  head,  and  smiling,  went  on:  "Looks  as  if 
some  one  had  dealt  you  a  miserable  hand,  and  I  wonder 
if  it  wouldn't  pay  you  to  shuffle,  cut,  and  try  another 
deal?  Now  before  I  bring  in  new  crews — " 

"New  crews?     Where  kin  you  get  them?" 

All  through  the  men  had  given  close  attention,  and 
after  a  single  impatient  glance  at  Michigan  Red  the  faces 

332 


THE  BLUFF 

turned  back  to  Carter,  who  ignored  the  interruption. 
Leaning  eagerly  forward,  they  took  the  words  from  his 
mouth  as  he  ran  on  roughly  outlining  his  own  plans, 
prospecting  the  coming  years.  Few  of  them,  perhaps 
none,  were  given  to  looking  beyond  the  present,  and  the 
vista  to  which  he  turned  their  dull  eyes  glimmered  like 
sunshine  on  the  prairies.  This  was  to  be  no  casual  job ! 
The  province,  ay,  and  the  whole  Northwest,  required 
branch  roads ;  would  be  gridironed  with  them  before  the 
finish!  So  what  of  construction  in  summer,  logging  in 
winter,  they  could  look  for  profitable  employment  the 
round  of  the  seasons! 

"So  talk  it  over  among  yourselves,"  he  finished,  "and 
those  who  feel  that  a  fresh  deal  is  in  order  can  call  round 
at  the  office  after  supper." 

Long  before  that,  nods  and  approving  murmurs  had 
testified  to  his  victory,  and  as  the  burr  of  hot  tongues 
followed  them  out  through  the  open  windows,  Bender 
exclaimed :  ' '  Whipped  to  a  finish !  But  what  about  them 
new  crews?"  Then  catching  Carter's  grin,  he  burst  out 
in  uproarious  laughter.  "What  a  bluff!" 

"  Not  a  man  in  Minneapolis,"  Carter  confirmed.  "  But 
that  wasn't  what  we  went  down  for.  So  it  didn't  matter." 

"But  will  they  believe  it?"  Smythe  asked. 

"  Believe  it  ?"  Bender  took  it  upon  himself  to  answer 
it.  "A  frightened  man  will  run  from  his  shadow,  an' 
they're  that  badly  scared  'twon't  take  them  five  minutes 
to  locate  them  crews." 

He  gave  them,  indeed,  too  much  time,  for,  as  he  said, 
fear  destroys  perspective  and  the  strikers  were  almost 
ready  to  believe  that  Carter  could  conjure  men  from  the 
trackless  forest. 

Carrots  Smith  led  the  panic  with  a  theory,  even  as 
he  had  headed  the  run  from  Michigan's  horse.  "Said 
he'd  been  prospectin'  down  in  the  States  ?  Minneapolis, 

333 


THE  SETTLER 

I'll  bet  you,  an*  the  place  jes'  rotten  with  whaleback 
Swedes." 

"Sawyer's  gang  is  through  with  the  N.  P.'s  Devil's 
Lake  extension,"  another  added.  "I  read  it  in  the 
paper  Sunday.  Old  Sawyer  ud  on'y  be  too  glad  for  a 
chance  to  finish  out  the  fall." 

Other  theories  were  not  wanting,  nor  could  Michigan  Red 
stem  the  rout.  Just  twenty  minutes  thereafter  a  sheep 
ish  delegation  presented  itself  at  the  office  door  and  deliv 
ered  itself  through  the  mouth  of  Bill  of  the  Anderson  ilk. 

"We've  concluded,"  said  Bill,  "as  'twouldn't  hardly 
be  right  to  leave  you  ditched." 

Albeit  Carter's  eyes  returned  Hart's  twinkle,  he  replied 
in  kind.  "I'm  real  tickled  to  think  that  you  won't  de 
sert  me." 

And  so,  with  this  bit  of  diplomatic  comedy,  ended  not 
only  the  strike,  but  also  the  bitter  fight  which  he,  like 
every  village  Hampden,  had  had  to  wage  against  the 
envious  ignorance  of  his  fellows.  For  a  while,  to  be  sure, 
their  stiff  necks  would  balk  at  the  homage  secret  con 
sciousness  dictated  as  his  meed.  They  would  refuse  it, 
indeed,  till  the  world  outside  sealed  his  success;  where 
after  every  man  of  them  would  proclaim  himself  as  the 
particular  prophet  who  had  discerned  greatness  in  his 
humble  beginnings.  But  in  the  mean  time  they  would 
refrain  from  further  hostilities. 

"What  about  that  Red  man?"  Smythe  said,  as  the 
delegation  made  its  jubilant  way  back  to  its  fellows. 
"You'll  surely  discharge  him?" 

"Michigan  Red?"  Carter  said.  "Not  if  he  wants  to 
stay.  His  team  is  worth  any  two  in  camp,  and  his  teeth 
are  drawn  for  good.  But  he  won't  stay." 

"That's  a  cinch,"  Bender  echoed.  "He's  due  in  Win 
nipeg  to  report  his  failure  sometime  in  the  next  three 
days." 

334 


XXX 

FIRE 

DAWN  saw  the  strikers  going  about  their  chores 
with  a  cheerful  alacrity  that  was  as  gall  to  Mich 
igan  Red,  who  chewed  the  bitter  cud  of  unsuccessful 
leadership  as  he  sat  drumming  his  heels  on  a  block  by 
the  cook-house  door.  He  had  come  to  the  end  of  his 
rope — rather,  dangled  there,  an  object  of  contemptuous 
pity  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellows.  Had  he  doubted  the  fact, 
it  was  to  be  easily  read  in  their  studied  avoidance;  but 
he  knew  that  he  had  failed — in  what  ?  He  could  hardly 
have  answered  the  question  himself;  for  whether  or  no 
he  had  plotted  in  the  monopoly's  interest,  the  strike 
was  merely  incidental  to  the  persistent  war  he  had  waged 
against  Carter,  to  the  dogged  opposition  which  had  root 
in  the  turbulent  anarchism  of  his  nature.  Sufficient 
that  though  his  weird  face  held  its  usual  bleak  calm,  he 
writhed,  mentally,  under  defeat,  while  the  few  who  vent 
ured  within  range  of  his  tongue  sensed  the  lava  beneath 
the  crust. 

"Not  with  this  crowd.  I  draw  the  color  line,"  he 
rasped,  when  Anderson  inquired  if  he  were  not  going 
to  work,  while  Carrots  Smith  drew  a  curse  along  with  the 
information,  "It's  me  for  a  better  job.  I'm  tired  of 
herding  sheep."  So  now  he  was  left  strictly  alone, 
though  speculative  glances  travelled  often  his  way. 

"He's  waiting  for  the  boss,"  a  teamster  remarked  to 
his  neighbor.  "Say,  I'd  like  to  see  'em  at  grips!" 

335 


THE  SETTLER 

"Rather  him  nor  me,"  the  other  said,  expressing  gen 
eral  opinion.  "The  boss  is  a  tough  proposition.  They 
say  he  beat  Shinn  up  so  badly  that  he'll  never  be  more  'n 
half  a  man  again.  Red  ain't  no  slouch,  though.  Bet 
you  I'd  like  to  see  it." 

However,  as  tools  had  to  be  reissued  and  a  hundred 
details  despatched,  the  men  were  all  at  work  before 
Carter  could  come  to  breakfast,  so  only  Smythe  and  the 
cook  witnessed  that  meeting. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  Already  the  heat  fulfilled  the 
prediction  of  a  torrid  sunrise,  and,  like  an  egg  in  a  pan, 
the  camp  fried  within  the  encircling  spruce  which,  on 
their  part,  seemed  to  lift  over  surrounding  birch  and 
poplar  as  though  tiptoeing  for  cooler  air.  The  same 
errand  had  brought  the  cook  out  from  the  bowels  of  his 
own  particular  inferno,  and  as  certain  phases  of  the 
encounter  could  not  be  set  forth  in  choicer  terms  than 
those  in  which  he  delivered  himself  to  an  interested  au 
dience  that  evening,  now  let  him  speak. 

"I  was  sitting  in  the  doorway,  that  close  to  Red  I 
could  have  pulled  his  ear,  when  the  boss  kem  along. 
Stopping  opposite,  he  looked  down  on  Red  with  eyes 
dark  and  steady  as  night.  They're  blue,  you  know,  by 
rights,  but  they  seemed  to  darken  to  pure  black,  an'  I 
never  felt  him  so  tall  before. 

'"Well,  Red ?'  he  says,  quiet,  like  that;  but  Red's  eyes 
stayed  down,  though  his  lip  lifted  clear  of  his  corner  teeth 
like  you've  seen  a  trapped  coyote,  and  so  the  pair  of  'em 
remained  for  a  full  three  minutes." 

Imagine  them — the  greenish  face  of  the  one  reflecting 
murderous  passion,  troubled  as  waves  on  shaken  acid; 
the  other  darkly  silent,  yet,  for  all  his  quiet,  oppressing 
both  Smythe  and  the  cook  with  the  loom  of  imminent 
death.  So  was  fought  out  the  silent- duel  of  personalities 
— one  minute,  two;  at  the  third,  sweat  broke  profusely 

336 


FIRE 

upon  the  teamster's  face,  and  the  cook  breathed  once 
more.  Burning  with  Cain's  lust,  his  glance  travelled 
but  once  above  the  other's  knee,  to  fall  as  quickly  again. 

"What's  the  matter,  Red?"  Smythe  actually  started 
as  Carter's  voice  broke  on  the  quiet  of  the  camp.  ' '  Quit 
ting?  What  for?" 

"No,  it  isn't  exactly  my  business,"  he  cheerfully  an 
swered  the  teamster's  growl.  "If  you  will,  you  will." 
Turning  back  after  entering,  he  added:  "Heading  for 
Winnipeg,  I  suppose?  Then  give  my  compliments  to 
Friend  Buckle  and  tell  him  to  please  hand  them  higher 
up." 

When  he  came  out  Michigan  was  still  there,  but  Car 
ter  passed  without  a  glance,  and  led  Smythe  down  the 
right  of  way  into  the  forest.  Even  then  Michigan  sat  on. 
It  was,  indeed,  almost  noon  before  he  loafed  over  to  the 
horse  lines,  after  refusing  the  cook's  invitation  to  wait 
for  dinner.  Without  returning  a  word  of  thanks  for  the 
grub-sack  which  the  latter  sent  over  by  a  cookee,  he 
hitched  to  his  wagon  and  drove  slowly  away. 

A  week's  rest  had  freshened  the  blacks  so  much  that, 
if  given  their  heads,  they  would  have  covered  half  the 
distance  to  Winnipeg  that  day.  But  he  took  a  vicious 
pleasure  in  balking  their  inclination.  Jerking  the  bits, 
which  hinged  on  a  cruel  curb,  he  pulled  them  down  to  a 
nervous,  teetering  walk. 

For  a  while  the  trail  paralleled  the  right  of  way,  then 
swung  on  a  wide  arc  around  a  morass,  and  for  an  hour 
thereafter  ran  alternately  among  sloughs,  sand-hills, 
muskegs,  through  a  country  indescribably  desolate  and 
which  teemed  with  savage  life.  Myriad  frogs  set  his 
ears  singing  with  dismal,  persistent  croaking;  a  pole-cat 
scuttled  across  the  trail,  poisoning  the  dank  air.  From 
brazen  skies  a  hawk  shrieked  a  malediction  upon  his 
bead;  his  horses  threw  up  their  heads,  snorting,  as  a  lynx 

337 


THE  SETTLER 

screamed  a  long  way  off.  Here,  too,  dark  woods  shut  off 
errant  breezes  and  he  fell  a  prey  to  a  curse  of  sand-flies 
that  stung  and  envenomed  his  flesh.  There  was  no 
escape.  They  settled,  by  hundreds,  on  the  hands  that 
wiped  them  off  his  face ;  stung  his  face  as  he  slapped  his 
hands. 

Coming  back,  mad  with  pain  and  rage,  from  this  d£- 
tour,  his  eyes  drew  to  a  trestle — longest,  highest,  most 
expensive  of  Carter's  works — and,  reining  in,  he  allowed 
his  glance  to  wander  lustfully  over  the  stout  timbers 
which  his  fancy  wrapped  in  flame.  A  single  match — but 
reason  urged  that  the  embers  would  undoubtedly  furnish 
red  lights  for  his  hanging,  and  he  drove  on,  hotter,  mad 
der  for  the  restraint.  He  was  ripe  for  any  mischief  that 
offered  a  running  chance  of  escape,  when,  midway  of  the 
afternoon,  he  came  on  wheel-tracks  that  swung  at  right 
angles  from  the  trail  into  a  chain  of  sloughs. 

"Red  River  cart,"  he  muttered,  noticing  the  wide 
gauge;  then,  furiously  slapping  his  thigh,  "Carter's  Cree, 
by  G— !" 

He  meant  the  Indian  who  had  brought  in  the  venison 
which  formed  the  tidbit  at  Dorothy  Chester's  first  meal 
in  camp.  All  through  the  summer  he  had  come  in  with 
deer-meat  twice  or  thrice  a  week,  but  though  Michigan 
and  other  teamsters  had  searched  for  his  tepee  during 
the  idle  days  of  the  strike,  no  one  had  penetrated  to  the 
woodland  lake  where  his  squaw — a  young  girl,  handsome, 
as  Indian  women  go — was  free  from  rude  glances,  safe 
from  insult  or  worse.  Now  the  trail  lay,  plain  as  a  pike- 
road,  under  Michigan's  nose;  and,  leaping  down,  he  tied 
his  team  to  a  tree  and  followed  it  along  the  sloughs. 

Through  a  gully,  patch  of  woodland,  the  tracks  led 
into  a  second  long  slough,  and  presently  debouched  on 
the  strand  of  a  small  lake,  one  of  the  thousands  that  gem 
that  black  wilderness.  Bird-haunted  in  spring»  lone- 

338 


FIRE 

someness  now  lay  thick  upon  it.  Uttering  its  weird  cry, 
a  loon  rose  on  swift  wing,  angling  in  its  flight  over  the 
tepee,  whose  bull's  hide,  raw,  smoke-blacked,  harmonized 
with  that  savage  setting. 

Just  then  Michigan  was  in  fettle  to  exact  a  vicarious 
revenge.  Early  in  summer  Carter  had  nipped  a  dispo 
sition  on  the  part  of  his  men  to  joke  and  make  free  with 
the  Indian,  giving  strict  orders  that  he  was  to  be  unmo 
lested,  coming  or  going.  This  girl  who  lived  in  his  pro 
tecting  shadow  would  have  fared  ill  at  Michigan's  hands. 
But  the  tepee  flaps  were  thrown  wide,  and  though  he 
strained  his  eyes  from  a  covert  of  tall  reeds,  he  saw  no 
sign  of  her,  without  or  within.  Save  the  lipping  of 
waters,  sough  of  a  rising  wind,  no  sound  broke  the  soli 
tude  that  guarded  this,  the  lair  of  primitive  man.  Only 
those  who  have  experienced  its  frightful  loneliness  can 
know  how  terrible  a  northern  solitude  can  be ;  how  awe 
some,  oppressive.  Some  note  of  it  caused  the  teamster 
to  speak  aloud,  heartening  himself  with  sound  of  his  voice. 

"They'll  be  back  to-night,  sure,  for  the  ashes  is  banked 
over  the  embers." 

Gaining  back  to  his  team,  he  drove  on  a  scant  quarter- 
mile,  then  turned  into  a  slough  parallel  to  those  he  had 
just  left,  and  which  had  its  end  in  a  wooded  dell.  Here 
high  banks  would  have  effectually  screened  a  fire,  yet 
he  endured  mosquitoes  till  dusk  smothered  his  smudge. 
Then  tying  his  team  in  the  thick  of  its  reek,  he  cut  across 
the  intervening  bush  and  followed,  as  before,  along  the 
slough  chain  till  he  saw  a  dim  cloud  quivering  on  the 
blackness  ahead. 

Beneath  this,  smoke  from  the  Cree's  fire,  presently 
appeared  a  rich  incandescence,  and  after  worming  the 
last  yards  on  the  flat  of  his  belly,  Michigan  peered  from 
thick  se,dge  out  at  the  Cree  woman,  who  sat  and  suckled 
her  child  by  the  fire  that  enriched  the  bronze  of  her 

339 


THE  SETTLER 

bosom  with  a  blush  from  its  glow.  A  free,  wild  thing, 
her  deep  eyes  now  caressed  her  child,  again  searched  the 
fire's  red  mystery,  giving  back  its  flame  as  forest  pools 
reflect  a  hunter's  flare;  sombre  and  silent,  eons  of  sav 
agery  flickered  in  her  glance. 

From  her  the  watcher's  evil  face  turned  to  the  Cree, 
who  was  skinning  a  deer  that  hung  by  the  hams  from  a 
poplar  crotch.  The  heavy,  clammy  odor  of  fresh  blood 
hung  thick  in  the  air,  filled  his  nostrils  as  he  lay,  like 
primitive  man  by  the  mouth  of  his  enemy's  cave,  watch 
ing  the  knife  slip  around  the  carcass.  Savage  could  not 
have  been  more  wicked  of  intent.  Again  and  again  his 
hand  gripped  his  own  knife,  always  to  fall  again  at  sight 
of  the  rifle  that  leaned  against  the  Red  River  cart,  close 
to  the  Indian's  hand.  And  thus  he  waited,  baleful  glance 
flickering  between  man  and  woman,  till  the  deer  was 
dressed  and  loaded  upon  the  cart. 

That  modified  without  changing  his  purpose.  "Going 
to  camp  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  he  thought,  as  he 
crawled  away.  "Always  goes  alone." 

Back  once  more  with  his  team,  he  kicked  the  wet  grass 
from  the  smudge,  and  after  eating  ravenously  of  the 
cook's  provision  by  its  flame,  he  spread  his  blankets  and 
lay  down,  head  propped  on  his  hand,  back  to  his  team. 
He  did  not  sleep;  simply  stared  into  the  fire,  or  listened 
to  the  varied  voices  of  the  night.  Now  there  would 
be  a  sighing,  breathing  among  the  trees,  creaking  of 
branches,  soft  rustlings.  Then  the  night  would  talk 
loudly  on  a  hush  as  of  death — a  loon  laughed  at  the  owl's 
solemn  questioning,  a  fox  barked  among  the  sand-hills; 
the  boom  of  a  bittern  came  in  from  some  dark  lake;  he 
heard  the  lynx  scream  again,  loudly,  shrilly,  as  a  tort 
ured  child.  Then  the  wind  again,  or  a  greater  hush  in 
which  he  heard  only  the  crackling  of  his  fire  as  he  re 
plenished  its  dying  flame. 

340 


FIRE 

On  these  occasions  a  long  trail  of  sparks  would  fly 
upward,  and  one,  a  tiny  ember,  at  last  wrought  a  strange 
thing.  Passing  over  and  behin4  him,  it  nested  in  the 
frazzle  of  tow  at  the  knot  of  the  stallion's  frayed  halter; 
where  it  smoked  and  glowed,  growing  larger,  brighter. 
Lowering  his  ugly  head,  the  beast  sniffed  at  the  strange 
red  flower,  then  backed  away  as  it  burst  into  a  bouquet 
of  flame  under  his  coaxing  breath. 

"Stan'  still!"  Michigan  growled,  without,  however, 
looking  around. 

The  stallion  stood — till  the  end  of  the  burned  rope 
dropped  to  the  ground. 

Even  then  some  time  elapsed  before  he  realized  that 
he  was  free;  but  when  he  did — he  turned  white,  wicked 
eyes  on  the  resting  man.  Was  that  short  worm  the  fiend 
that  had  ruled  him  ?  He  stepped. 

"Stan'  still!"  Michigan  growled  again. 

The  familiar  voice  gave  the  stallion  pause — a  moment. 
For,  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye,  Michigan  presently  saw  and 
became  cognizant  of  a  most  curious  thing — of  a  shadow, 
huge,  black,  upreared  above  himself. 

Uttering  a  hoarse  cry,  he  tried  to  rise — too  late. 

So,  in  the  midst  of  his  turbulence,  passed  Michigan 
Red,  but  the  evil  that  he  had  done  mightily  all  the  days 
of  his  life  followed  him  into  death,  for  the  pounding  hoofs 
spread  embers  of  his  fire  over  a  leafy  carpet,  where  the 
night  wind  found  them.  Leaping  under  its  breath,  small 
flames  writhed  tortuously  across  the  glade  to  the  thing 
that  had  been  a  man — touched  and  tasted  its  clothing 
with  delicate  lickings,  then  flashed  up  and  sprang  from 
the  smouldering  cinder  into  thick  scrub,  and  so  ran  with 
incredible  swiftness  through  the  forest.  Crouched,  like 
a  runner,  at  first,  close  to  the  ground,  it  suddenly  straight 
ened  and  bounded  high  over  a  patch  of  dry  poplar  burned 
•3  34i 


THE  SETTLER 

by  a  former  fire,  cowered  again,  to  crawl  through  thick 
green  spruce,  and  so  stole  softly  on,  as  though  to  catch 
the  Cree  in  his  sleep. 

As  well  try  to  singe  a  weasel.  Already  the  Cree  was 
urging  his  ragged  pony,  with  squaw  and  papoose,  towards 
Carter's  camp,  and,  balked  there,  the  fire  swung  with  the 
veering  wind  into  poplar  woods,  and  flamed  on,  a  roaring, 
ebullient  tide,  overtopping  the  tallest  trees.  Under  its 
effulgence,  black  lakes  and  sullen  tarns  flashed  out  of 
thick  night  with  scared  deer,  belly-deep  in  the  water. 
Huge  owls  went  flapping  through  the  smoke,  leading  the 
ducks,  geese,  vagrant  flocks  of  the  night,  leaving  hawks 
and  other  day  birds  to  circle,  shrieking,  ere  they  whizzed 
down  to  a  fiery  death.  Gaining  strength  from  its  own 
draught  and  the  freshening  wind,  it  flowed,  at  an  angle, 
over  the  railroad  and  poured  down  both  sides,  licking  up 
bridges,  trestles,  culverts,  leaving  the  hot  rails  squirming 
like  scorched  snakes  in  empty  space;  and  so,  about  mid 
night,  roared  on  to  the  great  trestle  at  which  Michigan 
had  paused  that  afternoon,  and  where  Carter  had  lined 
up  his  men. 

Roused  by  the  Cree  from  a  dream  of  Helen  to  a  night 
mare  of  flaming  skies,  Carter  first  sent  out  a  gang  under 
command  of  Hart  and  Smythe  to  back-fire  around  the 
camp,  then  loaded  the  remaining  crews  on  flat-cars  and 
raced  the  fire  down  to  the  trestle.  Bender,  who  was  with 
him  in  the  engine-cab,  leaned  to  his  ear  as  the  train  pulled 
out  of  the  cut. 

"Michigan  Red?" 

"Looks  it."  Nodding,  Carter  turned  to  watch  the 
rails  which  gleamed  under  the  sky-glow,  running  like 
scarlet  lines  on  black  ribbon  between  dark,  serried  ranks 
of  spruce.  "Lucky  it  is  coming  at  an  angle,"  he  said, 
as  the  engine  thundered  over  the  first  bridge. 

Bender  raised  his  big  shoulders.  "  If  the  wind 
342 


FIRE 

don't  shift?  But  it  generally  does  about  this  time  o* 
night.  If  she  slips  to  the  east — p-s-st!  a  puff  of  steam, 
a  crackle,  an'  we're  gone  up  like  flies  in  a  baker's 
oven." 

Carter  returned  his  shrug.  "As  good  a  way  as  any." 
He  added,  grimly  smiling:  "And  very  fit.  Give  us  a 
chance  to  get  acclimated.  But  with  luck  we  ought  to 
be  able  to  wet  her  down  and  pull  out  south.  Without 
it  we  can  lie  down  in  the  creek." 

"I  like  mine  wet,"  Bender  grinned.  "Drowning  ain't 
exactly  comfortable,  but  if  there's  to  be  any  preference 
I'll  take  it."  And  in  the  face  of  danger  and  disaster, 
Carter  smiled  again. 

Starting  out,  it  had  seemed  a  toss-up  between  them 
and  the  fire,  but  the  train  rolled  over  the  trestle  and  drew 
up  in  a  cut  on  the  southerly  side,  a  quarter-hour  to  the 
good.  The  creek  ran  under  the  northerly  end,  with  a 
short  approach  to  the  bank,  the  bulk  of  the  trestle  lead 
ing  over  a  quarter-mile  of  morass  to  firm  ground;  so 
Carter,  with  Bender,  Carrots  Smith,  and  other  half- 
dozen,  dropped  buckets  from  the  bridge  to  the  stream, 
thirty  feet  below,  and  passed  them  to  the  men  who  were 
strung  along  the  plates.  Dipping,  drawing,  dashing, 
they  worked  furiously  under  the  glare  of  the  conflagra 
tion.  While  still  half  a  mile  away,  its  heat  set  the  trestle 
steaming.  At  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  the  furious  draught 
rained  embers  large  as  a  man's  hand  upon  the  men,  who 
turned  their  faces  away  from  the  blistering  heat.  Cast 
ing  uneasy  glances  over  humped  shoulders,  they  began 
to  increase  their  distances,  edging  along  the  south  ap 
proach  towards  the  train;  but  as  they  still  maintained 
communications,  neither  Carter  nor  Bender  took  notice 
until  they  suddenly  broke  and  ran. 

"Here!  Comeback!"  Bender's  angry  roar  drowned 
Carter's  shout,  and  was  lost,  in  turn,  in  a  shrill  whistling; 

343 


THE  SETTLER 

for  the  engineer  had  seen  that  which  had  been  hid  from 
them. 

"My  God!"  Carrots  Smith  cried;  and  Brady  broke  out 
in  whimpering  prayer  to  the  saints. 

They  stood,  staring. 

As  aforesaid,  the  fire  was  running  south  and  westerly 
at  an  acute  angle  to — in  fact,  almost  paralleling  the  rail 
road,  with  its  extreme  point  farthest  away  but  already 
beyond  the  trestle.  And  now,  veering  swiftly  southeast, 
as  Bender  had  feared,  it  swung  at  right  angles  and  came 
broadside  on,  a  fiery  tide  high  over  the  forest.  To  the 
engineer  it  seemed  that  the  wind  lifted  a  mass  of  flame 
and  threw  it  bodily  into  a  tangle  of  poplar-brake,  red 
willow,  tall  reeds,  and  sedge  at  the  trestle's  south  end. 
Dry,  explosively  inflammable  from  a  summer's  heat,  it 
touched  off  like  a  magazine,  whirling  skyward,  a  twisting 
water-spout  of  flame,  and  as  he  jerked  wildly  on  his 
whistle  he  saw,  as  under  the  calcium  of  lurid  melodrama, 
men  running  like  wingless  flies  along  the  wet,  black 
trestle.  Careening,  the  column  fell  across  them. 

Only  the  few  who  were  drawing  with  Carter  escaped  that 
first  explosive  flame,  and  they  gained  only  time  to  jump 
as  the  main  fire  came  hurdling  over  the  trees.  Falling, 
Carter  saw  the  stream,  blood-red;  jagged  rocks  rising 
swiftly  to  meet  him.  A  flash  blinded  his  eyes,  then — 

He  rubbed  them — that  is,  he  winked,  for  he  was  far 
too  weak  for  such  robust  exercise.  Yes,  he  winked  it. 
Was — could  that  be  Helen's  face  bending  low  over  him  ? 


XXXI 

WHEREIN    THE    FATES    SUBSTITUTE    A    CHANGE     OF     BILL 


winked  again.  The  face,  however,  did  not 
move.  On  the  contrary,  it  lit  up  with  sudden  de 
light  and  said  smile  helped  his  limping  consciousness 
forward  to  the  idea  of  a  dream.  Yes,  he  was  dreaming, 
undoubtedly  dreaming!  No!  Here  memory  took  hold 
and  gave  him  back  the  flaming  forest;  wet  rocks,  rising 
swiftly  from  red  water,  carried  him  back  and  left  him 
at  the  precise  moment  that  he  had  struck  a  projecting 
timber.  He  was  falling!  Involuntarily  he  stiffened, 
expecting  the  shock  .  .  .  but  —  ah!  a  clew!  He  was 
dead  —  of  the  fall;  and  this?  Must  be  heaven,  or  why 
Helen  ?  //  t'other  place  ?  'Twas  not  so  bad  as  long  as 
she  was  there  !  Here  his  eye,  through  removal  of  the  face, 
touched  the  whitewashed  ceiling,  then  wandered  to  blank 
walls,  a  stand  with  medicine,  covered  glasses  and  spoons, 
a  linen-press,  two  chairs  —  he  arrived  at  truth,  a  hospital! 
Then,  tired  out  by  these  strenuous  mental  exercises,  his 
eyes  closed  once  more,  to  the  ineffable  relief  of  the  anx 
ious  watcher,  and  sleep,  natural  sleep,  replaced  the  coma 
that  had  held  him  these  two  days. 

For  a  while  Helen  listened  to  his  breathing,  then,  once 
sure  that  he  was  really  asleep,  she  tiptoed  out  to  the 
corridor  and,  under  urge  of  relief,  ran,  fairly  flew,  with 
her  good  news  to  the  head  doctor's  office.  For  these 
had  been  days  of  haggard  waiting,  as,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  had  the  last  two  weeks  —  Bender's  battles,  Carter's 

345 


THE  SETTLER 

triumph,  the  strike  and  forest  fire  had  all  been  packed 
into  ten  short  days. 

Beginning  at  the  morning  after  she  saw  Carter  at 
dinner  with  the  general  manager,  her  joyful  prayer  had 
gone  with  the  jubilant  roar  of  press  and  people  at  the 
ceding  of  the  crossing,  and  for  several  following  days  her 
ears  drank  thirstily  of  the  plaudits  which  were  universal 
in  the  hospital,  on  the  street,  at  her  boarding-house. 
When,  indeed,  the  topic  cropped  up  at  her  first  opera 
tion,  her  fingers  trembled  so  over  a  bandage  that  Car- 
ruthers  excused  her,  thinking  the  sight  of  blood  had 
turned  her  sick.  At  Jean  Glaves's  table  she  had  to  veil 
the  eager  exultance  of  her  eyes.  The  merchants  who 
were  discussing  competition  in  freight  rates  on  the  street 
would  have  stared  could  they  have  heard  the  heart-cry 
of  the  pretty  nurse  then  passing. 

"He  did  it!  Yes,  he  is  very  clever — all  that  you  say! 
But  you  cannot  have  him,  for  he  is  mine!  I'll  lend  him 
to  you — for  a  while!  But  I  must  have  him  back!  He's 
mine!  mine!  mine!" 

From  breathing  the  rare  atmosphere  of  these  exalted 
heights,  she  had  been  precipitated  by  the  strike  into 
bottom  deeps  of  despair,  and  while  agonizing  therein 
over  additional  rumors  of  Greer  &  Smythe's  impending 
failure,  a  morning  paper  came  to  her  breakfast-table  with 
six-inch  fire  scareheads  and  a  long  tale  of  burns,  bruises, 
breakages  that  would  have  been  longer  but  for  the  soft 
ness  of  the  morass.  Carter,  Bender,  Brady,  Carrots 
Smith,  all  who  were  on  the  trestle,  had  been  more  or  less 
injured;  and  six  bridges,  five  trestles,  dozens  of  culverts 
had  gone  up  in  smoke,  a  maleficent  memorial  to  Michigan 
Red,  before  the  conflagration  back-fired  itself  out  among 
labyrinthian  lakes.  But  she  paused  not  at  the  tale. 
The  injured  were  on  the  way  to  the  hospital,  and  with 
that  piece  of  news  clutched  to  her  bosom  she  ran  all  the 

346 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

way  and  broke,  at  one  time,  a  rule  that  was  as  the  law 
of  the  Medes  and  Persians  and  the  privacy  of  the  head 
doctor's  study. 

It  will  be  easily  seen  that  under  such  circumstances 
her  hysterical  gaspings  were  not  exactly  informing,  but  a 
man  does  not  attain  to  headship  of  a  hospital  without 
ability  to  extract  truth  from  obscure  premises — what  else 
is  diagnosis  ?  — and  when,  indicating  the  heading  that 
told  of  Carter's  injuries,  she  gasped,  "My  husband!"  the 
Head  grasped  every  detail  of  the  situation. 

"I  must  nurse  him!"    she  pleaded.     "Must!  must/11 

A  man  prodigiously  dignified  and  very  solemn  behind 
imposing  glasses,  the  Head  offered  a  stereotyped  objec 
tion;  but  it  speaks  for  the  feeling  beneath  his  dessi- 
cated  exterior  that  he  eventually  set  rules  and  regulations 
at  defiance,  and  outraged  the  discipline  and  morale  main 
tained  by  the  Scotch  head  nurse,  by  appointing  her,  a 
novitiate,  to  a  capital  case. 

"But  remember,"  he  said.  "Only  if  you  can  forget, 
for  the  present,  that  he  is  your  husband?" 

He  did  not  believe  she  could,  and  had  been  astonished 
by  her  quiet,  almost  mechanical  performance  of  duty  dur 
ing  those  two  harrowing  days.  For  he  did  not  see  her 
leaning  over  the  inanimate  form  when  alone  in  the  ward ; 
her  strained  watching,  desperate  listenings  for  the  first 
flutter  of  the  returning  spirit.  Now  he  did  see  her 
flushed  delight,  and  muttered  to  himself  as  Carruthers, 
the  under  surgeon,  hastened  with  her  to  Carter's  bed 
side:  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  tell  him!  . . .  What's  the  use ; 
he'll  hear  soon  enough." 

So  her  secret  was  kept,  and  being  uninformed  of  the 
matrimonial  complications  in  the  case,  the  surgeon  set 
her  delighted  flutterings  to  professional  interest  and  so 
joined  her  felicitations.  " 'Twas  touch  and  go,"  he 
whispered.  "Few  could  stand  such  a  crack  on  the 

347 


THE  SETTLER 

head;  must  have  made  an  omelet  of  his  brains  and  his 
fever  was  hot  enough  to  fry  it.  But  he'll  pull  through, 
Mistress  Morrill,  and  it  is  good  that  he  will,  for  he's 
a  gran*  character,  fine  and  useful  to  the  province." 

To  indulge  a  pleasant  conceit,  that  refreshing  sleep  may 
be  regarded  as  an  intimation  of  the  fates  that  comedy 
was  about  to  be  substituted  for  impending  tragedy  upon 
the  boards;  and  the  opening  of  Carter's  eyes  may  very 
well  be  considered  as  the  rise  of  the  curtain  on  the  first, 
and  what  would  also  have  been  the  last,  act  had  he  been 
in  the  enjoyment  of  his  usual  health  and  strength. 
Lacking  these,  he  could  only  take  things  as  he  found 
them;  chief  over  all,  a  demure  nurse  who  administered 
bitter  draughts  or  took  his  pulse  without  sign  of  rec 
ognition,  compunction,  or  emotion. 

As  her  shapely  back  always  hid  the  pencil  when  she 
noted  her  observations  on  the  chart,  he  could  not  see  it 
tremble;  and  how  was  he  to  know  that  the  pulse-taking 
was  a  sham?  That  she  could  feel  only  her  own  heart 
thudding  five  thousand  thuds  to  the  minute?  That 
she  had  to  guess  the  pulse  by  his  temperature,  which 
cardinal  crime  of  the  nurse's  calendar  was  partly  con 
doned,  because  if  she  had  set  down  its  vibrations 
at  the  moments  she  held  his  hand,  every  doctor  in 
the  hospital  would  have  come  running  as  to  a  lost 
cause. 

Ignorant  of  all  this,  he  could  only  lie  and  watch  her 
moving  about  the  ward,  tantalizingly  trim  and  pretty  in 
her  nurse's  dress;  wait  till  some  softening  of  her  coldness 
would  justify  the  clean  confession  he  ached  to  make. 
Always  the  desire  was  with  him  and  it  waxed  with  the 
days.  But  whether  or  no  she  discerned  it  lurking  be 
hind  his  surreptitious  glances,  she  afforded  no  oppor 
tunity,  and  what  can  a  man  do  against  a  fate  that  nips 

348 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

every  approach  to  the  tender  with  nasty  medicine  or 
chill  phrase — "You  are  not  to  talk." 

"I  believe  you  like  to  give  me  that  stuff,"  he  growled 
one  day. 

"Doctor's  orders,"  she  severely  replied,  and  her  stony 
face  effectually  repressed  him  while  indicating  that  she 
was  not  to  be  drawn  from  her  vantage-ground  by  that 
or  a  sudden  remark — "It  seems  strange  to  see  you  in 
that  uniform." 

"Doesn't  feel  so  to  me,"  she  coldly  answered,  adding, 
with  a  spice  of  malice,  "If  it  did  I  should  get  used  to  it, 
for  I  expect  to  wear  it  for  the  next  three  years." 

He  winced,  and  he  did  not  see  her  smile  as  he  gave  her 
his  angry  back — that  or  her  droopings  over  his  sleep  an 
hour  thereafter.  Alone  in  the  quiet  ward,  bent  so  low 
that  her  breath  moved  the  hair  on  his  temples,  the 
occasion  vividly  recalled  the  night,  long  ago,  when  she 
had  watched  the  moon  etch  with  line  and  shadow  the 
promise  of  the  future  upon  his  face.  It  lay  there  now, 
under  her  soft  breath,  the  fulfilment.  For  two  years 
stress  and  struggle  had  tooled  away  every  roughness  and 
left  the  accomplished  promise,  a  man  wrought  by  cir 
cumstance  to  a  great  fineness. 

She  also  had  changed — from  a  well-intentioned  if  care 
less  girl  to  a  thoughtful  woman.  Contact  with  life  in 
the  rough  had  rubbed  the  scales  from  her  eyes  and  now 
she  saw  clearly — many  things,  but  all  centring  on  one. 
Outside  people  were  declaiming  against  the  vindictive 
fate  that  had  joined  with  the  monopoly  against  this 
their  champion.  That  morning's  papers  had  it  that 
Greer  &  Smythe  were  surely  ruined.  Yet  she  was 
glad,  overjoyed.  Wealthy  and  honored,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  the  verge  of  impossibility  for  her  to  go 
back  to  him.  Always  she  would  have  felt  that  he  might 
doubt  her  motives.  But  now — 

349 


THE  SETTLER 

"It's  time  to  take  your  medicine!"  She  sprang  up  as 
he  opened  his  eyes,  wondering  if  he  had  felt  her  light 
kiss. 

Had  he,  it  would  have  been  "curtain"  there  and  then, 
but  as  he  did  not  the  play  went  on,  and  its  sequence 
proves  that,  however  honorable  her  intentions,  she  had 
by  no  means  relinquished  her  sex's  unalienable  right  to 
bring  things  about  in  its  own  illogical,  tantalizing,  per 
versely  charming  way.  Drooping  over  his  sleep,  hop 
ing  that  he  would  wake  and  catch  her,  she  took  care  that 
he  should  not — assumed  a  statuesque  coldness  at  the 
first  quiver  of  his  eyelids.  Undoubtedly,  and  with  her 
sex's  habitual  unfairness,  she  scandalously  abused  her 
position,  exercising  a  tyranny  that  was  as  sweet  to  her 
self  as  mortifying  to  him. 

"You  must  not  do  that — must  do  this — now  go  to 
sleep."  She  hugged  her  power  in  place  of  him,  and 
when  he  achieved  a  successful  revolt  against  her  ban  of 
silence  by  appealing  to  the  Head  for  permission  to  talk 
with  Smythe,  she  revenged  herself  by  injecting  a  per 
sonal  interest  into  her  dealings  with  Carruthers.  It  was 
madness  for  him  to  see  their  heads  close  together  over 
his  chart;  the  shining  eyes  she  brought  back  from  whis 
pered  conferences  in  the  hall.  To  be  sure,  it  was  all 
about  pills  and  piaster,  but  how  was  he  to  know  that  ? 
And  it  was  in  revenge*ior  this  shamelessly  injurious  con 
duct  that  he  arranged  the  scene  which  opens  the  second 
act. 

On  the  morning  that  he  was  promoted  from  spoon-feed 
to  the  dignity  of  a  tray,  behold  him!  head  bent,  elbows 
square  with  his  ears,  knife  and  fork  grabbed  at  their 
points,  proving  his  indifference  to  her  opinion  by  the 
worst  behavior  that  recent  better  practice  permitted. 
Alas!  he  was  cast  all  through  for  a  losing  part.  Display 
ing,  before  his  face,  the  irritating  curiosity  which  a  child 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

bestows  on  a  feeding  lion,  she  privately  peeped  from 
behind  the  door-screen,  gloated  over  the  old  familiar 
spectacle.  She  caught  him  coming  and  going.  Also 
she  turned  a  delighted  ear  when  he  dropped  into  the 
homely  settler  speech ;  listened  for  the  old  locutions ;  but 
called  his  bluff  when  he  overdid  the  part  by  running 
amuck  of  the  grammar  in  a  manner  frightful  to  behold. 

"I  really  don't  see  why  you  talk  like  that,"  she  re 
marked,  patronizingly.  "You  speak  quite  well,  almost 
correctly,  to  Dr.  Hammand  and  Mr.  Smythe." 

"Yes?"  he  retorted.  "I  didn't  notice.  Mebbe  you'll 
correct  me  if  I  side-step  it  again?" 

But  the  last  case  of  that  man  was  worse  than  the 
first.  "Thank  you,"  she  coldly  answered.  "I  have 
given  up  teaching  school." 

He  sniffed  sarcastically.  "Hum!  Shouldn't  have 
known  it.  I  always  heard  that  the  spanking  habit  stuck 
through  life.  But  don't  give  up.  Remember  the  copy 
book  line,  '  If  at  first  you  don't  succeed,  try,  try  again.' " 
But  she  was  going  out  of  the  door  at  the  time  and  took 
care  that  he  should  think  she  had  not  heard.  "You 
were  speaking?"  she  inquired,  coming  back.  And,  of 
course,  it  would  riot  bear  repetition. 

He  fared  just  as  illy  when,  next  morning,  Bender 
hobbled  into  the  ward  with  the  aid  of  a  crutch  and  cane. 
Having  been  visited  by  the  lady  protagonist,  the  giant 
was  fully  informed  on  the  situation  and  so  achieved  a 
sly  wink  behind  his  chief's  sarcastic  introductions. 
"Mr.  Bender— Mrs.  Morrill." 

Also  her  quiet  answer  was  disconcerting.  "We  have 
met  before.  Have  you  heard  from  Jenny  lately,  Mr. 
Bender?" 

Now  Bender  had.  A  letter,  small  note,  simple  and 
direct  as  Jenny  herself,  was  even  then  burning  his  pocket, 
and,  blushing  like  a  school-boy  caught  in  the  theft  of 


THE  SETTLER 

apples,  he  produced  and  read  it.  If  he  insisted — was 
perfectly  certain  that  he  couldn't  get  well  without  her — 
Jenny  would! 

'"Fraid  I  took  a  mean  advantage,"  he  confessed. 
"Reg'lar  cold-decked  her.  You  see,  a  busted  ankle 
ain't  much  to  spread  on,  so  I  hinted  at  complications. 
She  sure  thinks  I'm  dyin,'  an'  when  she  comes  she'll  find 
me  hopping  around." 

"Oh,  well."  Carter  glanced  stealthily  at  Helen.  "She 
has  oceans  of  time  to  pay  you.  With  any  old  luck  you 
are  good  for  eighty-five,  and  it  doesn't  take  a  loving  wife 
that  length  of  time  to  get  even."  For  which  insolence 
he  paid  instantly  and  doubly  —  first  by  a  nasty  dose, 
secondly  by  loss  of  Bender,  who  was  summarily  ejected 
under  pretext  of  its  being  the  patient's  hour  for  sleep. 

So  the  war  ran,  and  it  did  seem  as  though  circum 
stance  never  tired  of  impressing  allies  for  Helen's  cause. 
Take  Dorothy  Chester,  who  called  with  Hart  next  day. 
She,  like  Carruthers,  could  only  take  the  situation  at  face 
values,  and  so  enthused  over  his  luck  in  nurses;  to  all  of 
which — in  Helen's  absence — Carter  subscribed  till  Doro 
thy  reached  her  climax. 

"And  Dr.  Carruthers  thinks  so,  too.  Wouldn't  it  be 
nice  if  they  made  a  match  of  it  ?" 

She  was  astounded  by  thq  heat  of  his  reply.  "No! 
A  Scotch  dromedary,  suckled  on  predestination  and 
damnation  of  infants?  Pretty  husband  he'd  make!" 
But  she  solved  his  vehemence  for  Hart's  benefit  on  the 
way  home.  "He's  in  love  with  her  himself." 

"Between  patient  and  doctor?  What  a  mix-up!" 
Hart  laughed.  "Odds  are  on  the  doctor  if  he's  up  to  his 
job.  I'd  hate  to  be  Carter  on  the  chance  of  an  over 
dose."  For  which  flippancy  his  ears  were  well  pulled. 

As  he  said,  things  were  undoubtedly  a  little  tangled, 
and  if  at  first  glance  it  would  appear  that  Dorothy  had 

352 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

not  assisted  in  the  unravelling,  closer  scrutiny  shows 
that  her  remark  helped  at  least  to  bring  affairs  to  a  head. 
For  the  remainder  of  the  day  Carter  was  very  thoughtful, 
so  preoccupied  that  he  forgot  to  misbehave  over  his 
supper-tray  while,  time  and  again,  Helen  caught  him 
surveying  herself  with  a  dark  uneasiness.  Puzzled,  she 
came  back  to  the  ward  before  leaving  and  stood  at  the 
foot  of  his  bed;  but  as  yet  his  fever  was  confined  to  his 
mind,  and  he  replied  that  he  was  feeling  quite  well  to  her 
question. 

The  "good-night"  she  wished  him  was  not,  however, 
for  him.  Always  darkness  magnifies  trouble,  and  through 
its  black  lens  he  saw  suspicions  as  facts.  Tossing  rest 
lessly,  he  heard  the  city  clock  chime  the  quarters,  halves, 
hours,  until,  at  twelve,  the  night  nurse's  lantern  revealed 
him  wide-eyed,  staring,  and  knowing  the  efficacy  of  a 
change  of  thought  in  producing  sleep,  she  stayed  for  a 
chat. 

Correct  enough  in  theory,  the  treatment  proved  about 
as  successful  as  would  the  application  of  a  blister  upon 
a  sore;  for  he  bent  the  conversation  to  his  own  uses, 
steering  it  by  a  circuitous  route  through  the  girl's  own 
experience  to  Helen. 

She  was  liked  in  the  hospital  ? 

Indeed  she  was!  The  night  nurse  was  emphatic  on 
that,  and  went  on  to  say  that  beauty  such  as  Helen's  was 
not  generally  conducive  of  popularity.  No,  it  wasn't 
jealousy!  The  nurse  tossed  her  head  at  his  question. 
Simply  that  pretty  girls  didn't  have  to  be  nice,  so  usually 
left  amiability  to  be  assumed  with  a  double  chin;  and 
being  a  frank  as  well  as  a  merry  creature,  she  confessed 
to  an  accession  of  that  desirable  quality  every  time  she 
saw  her  own  nose  in  a  glass.  But  Helen  Morrill  ?  She 
was  sweet  as  she  was  pretty! 

Dr.  Carruthers  thought  so,  too? 
353 


THE  SETTLER 

Well — the  nurse  would  smile!  And  everybody  in  the 
hospital  was  glad  of  it.  They  would  make  such  a  perfect 
couple,  an  ideal  match! 

It  was  as  good  as  settled,  then? 

Well — not  given  out  yet,  but  every  one  knew!  Her 
lantern  being  on  the  floor,  she  could  not  see  his  face,  and 
he  lay  so  quiet  she  thought  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  was 
tiptoeing  away  when  he  spoke  again. 

But — Mrs.  Morrill?  She  had  been  married  before! 
Her  husband — dead? 

If  he  wasn't  he  ought  to  be — the  nurse  was  sure  of  that. 
There  was  only  one  place  for  a  man  who  could  not  live 
with  such  a  nice  girl.  And  if  he  were  not — divorce  was 
about  as  good  in  ridding  one  of  the  beast!  With  which 
she  picked  up  her  lantern  and  left  him  in  darkness  and 
despair.  When  she  came  next  on  her  rounds  she  thought 
him  asleep,  but  he  resumed  his  restless  tossings  as  soon 
as  her  back  was  turned.  Dawn,  however,  betrayed  him, 
and  sent  her  flying  to  the  head  doctor  with  his  pulse 
and  temperature. 

"He  was  all  right  last  night!"  the  latter  exclaimed. 
"Bring  his  chart  down  to  the  office."  Studying  it  while 
he  mixed  sedatives  a  little  later,  he  said:  "Awake  at 
midnight— hum!  Talked,  did  he?  What  about?  Mrs. 
Morrill?"  He  snatched  truth  out  of  her  as  though  it 
had  been  an  appendix.  "Spoke  of  her  and  Dr.  Car- 
ruthers? — ah!  ha!  Well,  give  him  this  and  send  Mrs. 
Morrill  to  me  when  she  comes  in." 

If  short,  the  interview  did  not  lack  excitement  when, 
a  couple  of  hours  later,  Helen  opposed  the  freshness  of 
the  morning  to  the  Head's  angry  glare.  Her  delicate 
colors,  the  eyes  cleared  by  sleep  and  full  of  light,  were 
enough  to  have  softened  the  heart  of  a  Gorgon,  but 
served  only  to  irritate  him,  who  looked  upon  them  as  so 
much  material  gone  to  waste. 

354 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

"What  have  you  done?"  he  roared  after  her.  "Look 
at  that!"  And  went  on  as  her  distressed  eyes  came  back 
from  the  chart:  "You  have  done  nothing — that's  the 
trouble.  Why  did  I  appoint  you  to  this  case  ?  Because 
of  your  vast  experience?  No,  because  I  thought  you 
could  administer  something  outside  of  medical  practice. 
And  now  he's  dying — of  jealousy.  You  have  done  it; 
you  must  cure  him."  And  taking  her  by  the  arm  as 
though  she  were  a  medicine-tray,  he  marched  her  to 
Carter's  ward,  gave  her  a  shake  at  the  door  like  a  bot 
tle  that  is  to  be  "well  shaken  before  taken,"  and  thrust 
her  in  with  the  parting  admonition,  "Now,  do  your  duty." 

Here  was  an  embarrassing  position!  Surely  never 
before  had  nurse  such  orders — to  administer  love,  like 
a  dose,  that,  forsooth,  to  a  patient  who  had  already 
turned  his  broad  back  on  her  charms.  Now  did  she  pay 
toll  of  blushes  for  the  perversity  that  had  checked  his 
every  overture.  How  should — how  could  she  begin? 

Pleating  and  unpleating  her  apron,  she  stood  at  the 
foot  of  his  bed,  the  prettiest  picture  of  perplexity 
ever  vouchsafed  to  gaunt,  unshaven  man.  A  week's 
stubble  did  not  improve  his  appearance  any  more  than 
his  unnatural  color,  fixed,  glazed  eyes.  But  soon  as  a 
timid  glance  gave  her  these — she  was  on  her  knees 
beside  him. 

"Is  that  you,  Helen?"  Before  she  could  speak  he 
burst  out  in  a  sudden  irruption  of  speech.  "I'm  so  glad; 
there's  something  I  want  to  tell  you."  Then  it  came,  in  a 
flood  that  washed  away  his  natural  reserve,  the  confes 
sion — his  remorse  for  his  obstinacy,  the  sorrow  that  had 
tamed  his  anger,  his  yearning  through  weary  months  for 
an  overture  from  her;  his  ignorance  of  the  settler's  per 
secution,  scorn  of  scandalous  rumors;  his  attempts  to 
communicate  with  and  find  her;  all,  down  to  his  ob 
servation  of  her  liking  for  Carruthers,  finishing:  "Through 

355 


THE  SETTLER 

all,  my  every  thought  has  been  of  you.  But  now — I  see. 
It  was  a  mistake,  our  marriage.  It  was  wrong  to 
couple  roughness  with  refinement.  So  if  you  wish — " 
Her  face  was  now  buried  in  her  arms,  and  he  gently 
touched  the  golden  hair.  "Last  night  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  bring  no  more  misery  into  your  life.  But  now 
.  .  .  that  I  see  you  ...  it  is  difficult;  .  .  .  but  ...  if  you 
wish — " 

He  got  no  further,  for  speech  is  impossible  when  a  soft 
hand  stoppers  one's  mouth.  And  while  he  was  thus 
effectually  gagged,  she  took  a  mean  advantage:  told  him 
just  what  she  thought  of  him.  Such  a  stupid!  A  big 
man,  so  very  strong,  but  oh,  so  silly!  Did  he  really 
think  that  she — any  girl — would  have  waited  upon  him 
in  such  circumstances  unless —  Here  she  had  to  release 
his  mouth  to  wipe  away  the  streaming  tears,  and  his  ques 
tion  came  out  like  an  explosion: 

"What?" 

She  told  him,  or,  rather,  conveyed  the  information 
in  the  orthodox  way  with  lovers.  This  takes  time, 
and  becoming  suddenly  alive  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
sitting  up  in  bed,  she  resumed  her  authority  to  make 
him  lie  down.  In  view  of  his  condition  she  was  certainly 
justified  in  using  force  to  compel  obedience;  but  was  it 
right,  was  it  proper  for  her,  a  nurse  duly  accredited 
to  the  case,  to  leave  her  arms  about  him?  Well,  she 
did,  and — scandalous  predicament! — her  golden  head 
was  lying  beside  his  on  the  pillow  when  the  door  opened 
for  the  matron,  Carruthers,  and  the  Head  on  their 
morning  rounds. 

' '  Well — I  declare !     Fine  goings  on ! " 

Helen's  faint  cry  of  dismay  was  drowned  by  the 
matron's  horrified  exclamation,  but  Carter  rose  to  the 
situation.  "Miss  Craig,  doctor — my  wife."  He  could 
not  include  Carruthers,  who  retired  precipitously,  and 

356 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

was  then  just  outside  the  door,  swallowing  hugely  in 
vain  attempts  to  get  what  looked  like  a  monstrous  pill, 
but  was  really  his  heart,  back  to  its  proper  place. 

"Your  what?"  Having  the  general  objections  to 
matrimony  which  come  with  prim  old  maidhood,  the  ma 
tron  almost  screamed:  "Good  gracious,  man!  Couldn't 
you  have  waited  till  you  were  sure  you  wouldn't  need  a 
minister  to  bury  you?"  And  she  tossed  a  high  head  at 
his  answer. 

"No,  ma'am.  We  were  that  impatient  we  got  married 
two  years  ago." 

There  she  slid  one  in  on  him  with  a  sniff  of  disdain. 
"Two  years!  Imph!  One  would  never  have  thought 
it.  And  just  look  at  this  ward!  Doctors'  rounds  and 
ward  unswept,  bed  unmade;  I  doubt  whether  you've 
had  your  medicine!  I'll  send  up  another  nurse  at  once. 
As  for  you,  Mrs. — Carter" — she  paused,  flouncing  out 
of  the  door — "you  are — " 

She  intended  "discharged,"  but  the  head  doctor  in 
terposed  twinkling  glasses  between  Helen  and  destruc 
tion.  "She  was  merely  giving  treatment  according  to 
orders." 

How  the  matron  stared!  "Treatment?  Orders? 
Whose  orders,  pray?" 

"Mine." 

Her  response  as  she  bustled  away,  "Has  every  one 
gone  mad!"  set  them  all  smiling,  and  Carter's  remark, 
"A  bit  too  long  in  the  oven,"  eloquently  described  her 
crustiness. 

But  if  long  study  of  people  from  interior  views  had 
left  the  matron  purblind  as  to  outward  signs,  sym 
pathies,  and  emotions,  she  was  not  so  short-sighted  but 
that  she  came  to  a  full  stop  at  the  sight  of  Carruthers, 
who  stood,  hands  clinched,  like  a  naughty  boy,  face  to 
the  wall. 

24  357 


THE  SETTLER 

"You  poor  man!"  But  though  her  tone  was  gentle 
as  her  touch  on  his  shoulder,  he  threw  her  hand  fiercely 
away  and  strode  off  uttering  an  unmistakable  "damn." 

"Another  lunatic!"  she  tartly  commented,  and  was 
confirmed  in  that  flattering  opinion  when,  instead  of 
pining  in  romantic  fashion,  he  fell  in  love  again  and 
married  a  sweet  girl  the  following  summer. 

Left  thus  alone  in  the  case,  the  head  doctor  nodded 
his  satisfaction  at  the  patient's  decided  improvement, 
while  his  further  instructions  were  short  as  pleasant — 
"Same  treatment,  continued  at  intervals." 

These  orders,  be  sure,  were  faithfully  observed.  In 
deed,  he  had  scarcely  passed  out  than — but  the  next 
hour  is  their's,  intrusion  would  be  impertinent.  Suf 
ficient  that  its  confidences  left  each  possessed  of  the 
other's  every  thought  and  feeling  throughout  their  sep 
aration. 

Her  eyes  dancing,  she  broke  a  happy  silence  to  say: 
"You  were  dreadfully  transparent.  Did  you  really 
think  I  couldn't  see  through  your  misbehavior?"  Then 
she  told  of  how  Dorothy  had  confided  to  her  his  appeal 
to  Hart  and  efforts  at  self-improvement.  "But,"  she 
added,  with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  plaintive,  "I  wouldn't 
have  cared." 

Also  she  told  him  of  her  proud  espionage  upon  him  at 
the  general  manager's  dinner;  in  return  for  which  she 
learned  how  he  had  waited  at  the  forks  of  his  own  trail 
that  winter's  night — waited  while  his  ponies  shivered  in 
the  bitter  wind  until  he  picked  hers  and  Elinor  Leslie's 
voices  from  the  groan  of  passing  runners. 

She  remembered.  "Oh,  was  that  you?  Why  didn't 
you  come  in?" 

"I  would — at  least  I  think  I  would  have,"  he  cor 
rected,  "if  you'd  been  alone.  By-the-way,  I  saw  her 
in  Minneapolis  the  other  day.  She  was  taking  an  order 

358 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

from  a  fat  Frenchman  in  a  restaurant  where  Smythe  and 
I  had  turned  in  for  dinner.  Luckily  her  back  was 
turned,  so  we  got  out  without  her  seeing  me.  But  I 
caught  her  profile  and  she  looked  dreadfully  weak  and 
thin." 

"A  waitress?"  Helen  cried.  "Oh,  the  poor  thing! 
Couldn't  you  have — "  Pausing,  she  confirmed  his  wis 
dom.  "No,  it  was  better  she  did  not  see  you." 

Silence  fell  between  them,  he  thinking  of  the  tempta 
tion  in  the  warm  gloaming,  she  busy  with  her  own 
memories.  Helen's  watch  beat  like  a  pulse  in  the  quiet; 
a  house-fly  rivalled  the  full  boom  of  a  bee  as  it  battered 
its  head  against  the  window-pane,  a  futile  illustration  of 
Elinor  Leslie's  folly.  Just  so  had  she  beaten  at  the  in 
visible  barriers  that  held  her  back  from  free  passion. 
Now  she  lay,  poor  soul,  bruised  and  beaten  like  a  dying 
moth,  wings  singed  by  a  single  touch  of  the  unholy 
flame. 

But  sadness  could  not  hold  them.  Smiling,  Helen 
suddenly  relieved  herself  of  the  astonishing  remark: 
"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  ruined.  Yes,  I  am."  She  nodded 
firmly,  misreading  his  comical  surprise.  "Now  we  can 
go  back  to  the  farm — just  you  and  I — be  ever  so  happy." 

"Why?"  He  listened  with  huge  enjoyment  to  her 
explanation,  then  said,  with  mock  concern,  "It  would 
be  fine,  and  I'm  that  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but — who 
said  I  was  ruined?" 

"Oh,  everybody — the  papers  said  this  morning  that 
— what  is  that  funny  name  ?  Yes,  Mr.  Brass  Bowels — 
that  he  had  bought  up  enough  of  your  liabilities  to  snow 
you  under." 

"They  did,  did  they?  Well — they  have  another 
guess  coming." 

"Aren't  you  ruined?"  she  asked. 

But  though  he  laughed  at  her  naive  distress,  he  re- 

359 


THE  SETTLER 

fused  to  say  more,  laughingly  assuring  her  that  she 
would  not  be  long  in  suspense. 

Nor  had  she  long  to  wait.  For  as  she  was  giving  him 
his  medicine  the  following  afternoon,  he  bobbed  up  under 
her  hand  as  though  set  on  wire  springs  to  the  detriment 
of  the  snowy  quilt,  which  absorbed  the  dose. 

"Listen!" 

A  whistle,  deep-toned,  fully  two  octaves  below  the 
shrill  hoot  of  the  monopoly's  locomotives,  thrilled  in  the 
distance.  Drawing  nearer,  its  vibrant  bass  gave  the 
entire  city  pause  —  clerks  waited,  pens  poised  for  a 
stroke;  lawyers  dropped  their  briefs;  store  -  keepers, 
laborers,  mechanics,  the  very  Indians  in  the  camps  by 
the  river,  stood  on  gaze;  motion  ceased  as  at  the  voice 
of  the  falked  siren;  a  hush  fell  in  the  streets,  a  silence 
complete  as  that  of  some  enchanted  city. 

It  carried  consternation  into  the  offices  of  the  monop 
oly,  that  whistle.  Sparks,  the  division  superintendent, 
dropped  his  pen  and  stared  at  his  chief,  who  was  giving 
last  orders  for  the  demolition  of  Greer  &  Smythe  before 
he  went  back  East.  The  latter 's  iron  nerve,  however, 
vouchsafed  only  a  breathing  space  to  surprise,  then  he 
continued  in  the  same  dry  tones:  "Previous  instruc 
tions  are  hereby  cancelled.  That's  an  American  whistle, 
Sparks — Jem  Ball  for  a  thousand.  They've  won  out; 
it's  all  over  but  the  shouting."  And  as  eager  tumult 
broke  loose  in  the  street,  he  added,  "And  there  it  goes." 

The  shouting  ?  They  poured  into  the  streets — doctors, 
lawyers,  clerks,  laborers;  carpenters  jumped  from  new 
buildings,  plumbers  left  their  braziers  burning  while  they 
swelled  the  stream  that  poured  out  to  see  the  first  train, 
an  engine  with  Pullman  and  palace-car,  pull  in  over  the 
new  line. 

Shout  ?  They  did — and  more.  Your  canny  Canadian 

360 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

is  the  deil  at  celebrating  when  his  backslidings  carry  him 
that  way,  and  next  morning  many  a  worthy  citizen 
sweated  in  thinking  back  to  the  cause  of  his  headache. 
Ay,  good  church-members  lugged  flasks  of  old  Scotch 
from  blameless  -  appearing  pockets;  the  carpenter  ex 
changed  news  and  drams  with  the  millionaire.  The 
N.  P.  had  bought  the  new  road!  No,  only  leased  it! 
No!  no!  they  were  merely  to  finance  the  enterprise, 
market  its  bonds  in  return  for  reciprocal  traffic  arrange 
ments  !  There  were  other  theories,  all  spun  round  a  germ 
of  truth,  but  thence  to  the  source. 

As  the  siren  sounded  the  second  time,  Carter  looked 
at  Bender,  who  sat  opposite  Helen,  having  dropped  in 
for  a  chat,  and  his  remark  carries  back  to  the  strike. 
"Now  you  know  why  we  went  to  Minneapolis.  What 
does  it  all  mean  ?"  His  face  lit  up  as  he  turned  to  Helen. 
"It  means  cars,  locomotives,  rolling-stock;  the  use  of 
N.  P.  equipment  till  we  can  instal  our  own.  That  we 
can  rebuild  the  burned  bridges  this  fall,  and  shove  a 
temporary  line  through  to  Silver  Creek  and  the  camps 
in  the  Riding  Mountains.  It  means  that  the  Red 
River  Valley  will  send  its  wheat  south  to  Duluth  this 
fall.  It  means — victory  for  us,  competition  for  the 
province." 

That  was  his  hour,  but  Helen  shared  it — even  when 
Greer  and  Smythe  ushered  in  the  American  railway 
king.  Twin  to  the  general  manager  in  massive  build 
and  strength  of  feature,  he  had  come  from  a  softer  mould. 
His  eyes,  mouth  were  gentler,  more  pleasant.  In  him 
the  high,  sloping  forehead — mark  of  the  dreamer — was 
qualified  by  the  strong  jaw,  wide-spaced  eyes  of  the  man 
of  practical  affairs.  A  glance  told  that  here  imagina 
tion  and  constructive  power  went  hand  in  hand.  Fun 
rippled  and  ran  over  innumerable  fine  facial  lines,  and  he 
laughed  out  loud  when  Helen  made  to  withdraw,  assuring 

361 


THE  SETTLER 

her  that  their  conversation  would  not  tax  her  sex's  sup 
posed  weakness  in  the  matter  of  secrets  as  they  were  not 
to  talk  business. 

"We  think  too  much  of  this  man  to  bother  him  with 
details,"  he  said.  "These  gentlemen  have  attended  to 
everything,  and  all  we  require  is  his  signature  to  a  few 
papers.  Celebrations  won't  be  in  order  till  he's  well 
enough  to  run  down  to  St.  Paul.  Then — well,  you'd 
better  not  let  him  come  alone."  So,  talking  and  laugh 
ing  for  a  pleasant  half-hour,  he  gave  off  his  superabun 
dant  energy  until  the  ward  was  charged,  then  went  away 
leaving  the  patient  stimulated  to  the  verge  of  open 
mutiny. 

"  I'm  as  well  as  you."  He  defied  the  Head  to  his  face 
that  evening.  "Send  up  my  clothes." 

"In  two  weeks,  if  you  are  good!"  the  Head  calmly 
answered. 

"Two  weeks?  I'll  be  head  over  heels  in  work  by 
then,  and  there  is  something  I  want  to  do  first.  I'll  be 
out  of  here  in  one."  And,  albeit  a  trifle  chalky  as  to 
complexion  and  wobbly  of  knee,  he  was.  On  the  last 
day — 

But  first  the  record  of  that  week;  and  as  Bender's  bulk 
overshadows  all  else,  behold  him,  mid-week,  hobbling  into 
the  ward  with  Jenny  trailing  behind  like  a  kitten  in  the 
wake  of  the  family  house  dog. 

"Mrs.  Bender,  if  you  please,"  he  corrected  Carter, 
chuckling;  and  for  once  he  permitted  some  one  else  to 
do  the  blushing.  Wherein  he  showed  great  taste,  as 
she  did  it  right  prettily,  exhibiting,  moreover,  a  much 
superior  article. 

Next  day,  Dorothy,  becomingly  mortified  because 
the  good  news  had  come  to  her  through  her  father  out  of 
Smythe.  "To  hear  of  it  in  such  a  roundabout  way!" 
she  declared.  "You  little  traitor!  and  when  I  think  of 

362 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

your  speculations  about  his  wife!  Positively  I  had  re 
solved  never  to  forgive  you,  but — •"  Kisses,  of  course. 

Thereafter,  Brady,  Big  Hans,  Carrots  Smith — all  more 
or  less  singed  and  nursing  various  breakages — ostensibly 
to  see  the  boss,  really  to  take  a  look  at  his  pretty  wife, 
whom,  they  decided,  shamed  the  specifications. 

Then,  to  everybody's  astonishment  —  indeed,  the 
Head  shadowed  the  man  along  the  corridor  as  though 
he  were  an  anarchist  with  a  bomb  in  his  pocket  — 
the  General  Manager!  brisk,  steel-like,  yet  twinkling. 
"Trounced  us,  didn't  you?"  he  laughed.  "Well,  one 
never  can  tell  when  one  has  made  an  end.  Competition  ? 
Perhaps,  for  a  while ;  but  wait  till  Jem  Ball  and  I  get  a 
bellyful  of  fighting.  However,  by  that  time  you'll  be 
well  cured  of  your  desires  for  the  public  weal  and  be 
ready  to  listen  to  reason.  Oh  yes,  you  will!  We  all 
take  'em  like  chicken-pox  or  measles,  but  they  are  not 
fatal — unless  you  get  'em  late  in  life.  I  feel  so  sure  of 
your  eventual  recovery  that  I  just  dropped  in  to  bury 
the  hatchet.  Fifty  years  won't  see  the  finish  of  our 
plans,  and  whenever  you  feel  a  yearning  for  fresh  enter 
prises,  just  look  me  up." 

Therewith  the  gray  cynic  hurried  away  to  plan  and 
scheme,  upbuild,  tear  down,  without  slack  or  satiety  of 
enormous  constructive  appetite ;  to  live  in  travail  greater 
than  the  labor  of  woman,  and  give  birth  ceaselessly  to 
innumerable  works;  to  inundate  the  plains  with  seas  of 
wheat  and  carry  bread  to  Europe's  teeming  millions;  to 
sow  towns,  villages,  cities  broadcast  over  the  north, 
make  farms  for  countless  thousands;  to  join  Occident 
and  Orient  with  gleaming  rails,  clipper  ships;  to  do  evil 
consciously  all  his  days  and  work  unconscious  good, 
crushing  the  individual  for  the  weal  of  the  race,  and 
caring  nothing  for  either ;  to  live  feared  and  die  respected, 
leaving  the  world  bigger  and  better  than  he  found  it. 

363 


THE  SETTLER 

Lastly,  the  cook,  just  down  from  the  camp  with  news 
of  Michigan  Red.  Flying  in  front  of  the  fire,  the  black 
stallion  had  come  in  with  the  rat-tailed  mare  to  be  shot 
as  a  murderer  after  the  Cree  had  tracked  down  the  Thing 
that  had  been  his  master;  and  so,  if  there  be  aught  in 
Cree  mythology,  the  soul  of  the  fierce  brute  would  fight 
it  out  once  more  with  the  fiercer  man  in  the  place  of  the 
teamsters. 

While  beguiling  the  tedium,  these  tales  and  conversa 
tions  failed  to  exclude  from  Carter's  ear  a  distant  ham 
mering  that  attended  the  building  of  his  station  and 
freight-sheds.  Also  he  could  hear  the  hoarse  coughing  of 
locomotives  going  up  and  down  his  line.  And  as  the 
materia  medico,  contains  no  tonics  like  happiness  and 
success,  small  wonder  that,  as  aforesaid,  he  demanded 
his  clothes  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

' '  Once  you  get  hold  of  a  fellow  you  are  never  satisfied 
till  you  have  gone  all  through  his  clock-work,"  he  replied 
to  the  Head's  objections.  "But  though  I  sympathize 
with  your  industry,  you'll  have  to  wait  for  another  go 
at  mine.  They  are  needed  in  my  business." 

First — Helen  with  him,  of  course — he  directed  his 
steps,  or  rather  the  wheels  of  a  hack,  to  the  new  station 
where  the  ring  of  saws,  hammering,  noise  and  bustle  of 
work,  acted  upon  him  like  the  draught  of  the  elixir  of 
life,  bringing  color  to  his  cheeks,  stiffness  to  his  knees, 
sparkle  to  his  eyes.  Thence  they  drove  for  a  conference 
to  Greer  &  Smythe's;  whereafter  nothing  would  suit 
him  but  a  long  drive  out  to  the  prairies.  It  was  a 
strenuous  beginning,  but  fresh  air  and  sunshine  are  ever 
potent.  He  gained  color  and  strength  under  her  anxious 
eyes ;  seemed  fresher  when  he  dropped  her  at  Jean  Glaves's 
house  that  evening  than  in  the  morning. 

Throughout  the  happy  day  they  had  lived  in  the 
present.  But  though  he  had  made  no  plan  for  the 

364 


THE  FATES  SUBSTITUTE  A  CHANGE  OF  BILL 

future,  she  had  trusted,  and  her  face  lit  up  with  flashing 
intuition  when  he  said  good-night. 

"  Mistress  Morrill,  you  are  to  take  the  morning  train 
to  Lone  Tree." 

This  was  the  "something  he  wanted  to  do." 


XXXII 

THE   TRAIL   AGAIN 

O  KIPPING  that  long  if  happy  night,  peep  with  dawn 
^  into  Helen's  bedroom,  and  see  her  up  and  singing 
small  snatches  of  song  that  presently  brought  Jean 
Glaves,  herself  the  earliest  of  birds,  from  bed  to  assist 
at  the  toilet.  Should  she  wear  this,  that,  or  the  other? 
There  was  the  usual  doubt  which  beset  a  young  lady  who 
wishes  to  look  her  best  for  occasion;  but  the  result 
that  went  forth  from  big  Jean's  hug?  A  vision  of 
healthy  beauty  that  drew  tentative  smiles  from  a  brace 
of  drummers  and  attracted  the  stealthy  regard  of  the  en 
tire  station  when  she  finally  broke,  like  a  burst  of  sun 
light,  on  the  platform.  Continuing  the  figure,  the  smile, 
its  crowning  asset,  faded  like  the  afterglow  when  her 
anxious  eyes  refused  her  the  tall  familiar  figure;  and 
when  the  train  pulled  out  without  him,  her  disconsolate 
expression  filled  the  aforesaid  drummers  with  manly 
longings  towards  consolation. 

Unpunctual?  On  such  an  occasion?  And  how  silly 
she  would  look  at  Lone  Tree!  Slightly  offended  at  first, 
she  then  grew  alarmed.  Perhaps  he  had  suffered  a 
relapse,  was  ill,  dying!  Be  sure  that  her  terrors  com 
passed  the  possible  and  impossible  during  an  hour's 
journey,  and  not  until  she  saw  a  man  come  dashing  across 
the  tracks  to  the  Lone  Tree  platform  did  she  realize  the 
fulness  of  his  inspiration.  He  had  taken  the  freight  out 
the  night  before!  If  thinner,  paler,  he  was  very  like 

366 


THE  TRAIL  AGAIN 

the  young  man  who  had  come  to  meet  her  three  years  ago. 
There,  also,  was  the  lone  poplar  that  had  christened  the 
station;  the  ramshackle  town  with  its  clapboard  hotels, 
false-fronted  stores,  grain-sheds,  sitting  in  the  midst  of 
the  plains  that,  flat  and  infinitely  yellow,  ran  with  the 
tracks  over  a  boundless  horizon.  Lastly,  there  was  Nels 
and  his  bleached  grin,  holding  Death  and  the  Devil, 
sleek,  fat,  and  sinful  as  ever. 

Carter's  whispered  greeting  helped  to  keep  her  in  the 
past.  "  Is  this  Miss  Morrill  ?" 

"Mr.  Carter,  I  believe?"  she  had  just  time  for  the 
roguish  answer,  then  their  little  comedy  had  to  be  laid 
aside  till  they  were  alone  on  trail.  For  the  doctor  came 
running  from  his  office,  the  store-keeper  plunged  madly 
across  tracks,  Hooper,  the  agent,  yelled,  "Well,  I  swan!" 
and  jumped  to  shake  hands,  while  from  a  grain  -  shed 
emerged  Jimmy  Glaves,  who  had  taken  a  lift  in  with 
Nels. 

Wasn't  she  glad  to  see  them  ?  Yet  a  deeper  happiness 
enveloped  her  when,  looking  back,  she  again  saw  Lone 
Tree,  shrunken  in  the  distance,  its  grain-sheds  looking 
like  red  Noah's  arks  on  a  yellow  carpet;  when  she  heard 
only  the  pole  and  harness  jigging  a  merry  accompani 
ment  to  the  beat  of  quick  feet,  whirring  song  of  swift 
wheels. 

It  was  very  like  that  first  occasion.  Though  stiff 
night  frosts  were  now  giving  timely  notice  of  winter's  chill 
approach,  the  clerk  of  the  weather  had  made  special 
arrangements  for  a  south  wind;  so  it  was  warm  as  on 
that  far  day.  Birds,  animals,  scenery,  too,  all  helped  to 
bring  the  happy  past  forward  to  the  happy  present,  while 
Death  and  the  Devil,  those  wicked  ones,  fostered  the  il 
lusion  by  frequent  boltings.  Surely  she  remembered  the 
ridge  where  her  first  coyote  had  caused  her  to  cling  to 
Carter,  and  earned  a  kiss  by  repetition  of  that  shameful 

367 


THE  SETTLER 

performance  and  faithful  mimicry  of  his  accent.  "He 
shore  looks  hungry."  Immediately  thereafter  they 
plunged  out  from  among  scattered  farms  into  the  "  Dry 
Lands,"  but  its  yellow  miles,  generally  a  penance,  flowed 
unnoticed  under  the  buck-board.  They  were  both  as 
tonished  when,  suddenly  as  before,  they  rattled  through 
a  bluff  and  dropped  over  the  edge  of  the  valley  upon 
Father  Francis  at  the  mission  door. 

Nothing  would  suit  but  that  they  must  dine  with  him 
while  Louis,  the  half-breed  stableman,  fed  and  watered 
the  ponies.  But  if  the  good  priest's  twinkle  expressed 
knowledge  that  another  of  his  day's  works  was  come  to 
fruitage,  his  quiet  converse  brought  no  jarring  note  into 
their  communings. 

Undisturbed,  they  began  again  at  the  ford  and  con 
tinued  while  the  Park  Lands  rolled  in  great  billows  under 
the  wheels.  The  Cree  chimneys,  Indian  graveyards, 
other  well-remembered  objects  passed  in  pleasant  pro 
cession  ere,  coming  to  Flynn's,  he  looked  at  her.  A 
shake  of  the  head  confirmed  his  doubt.  Another  time! 
So  they  swept  on  through  vast,  sun-washed  spaces  where 
cattle  wandered  freely  as  the  whispering  winds  under 
flitting  cloud-shadows,  and  so,  about  sundown,  came  to 
their  own  place  with  but  a  single  interruption. 

Passing  Danvers  at  their  own  forks,  he  grinned  his 
delight  as  he  turned  out  to  let  them  by  and  shouted  after: 
"Say!  I  heard  from  Leslie!  He's  doing  well  on  the 
Rand!  Sends  regards  to  both  of  you!" 

While  that  bit  of  good  news  was  still  ringing  in  her 
ears,  the  house  flashed  out  under  the  eaves  of  the  forest, 
warm  and  bright  under  the  setting  sun.  All  was  un 
changed — the  lake,  stained  just  now  a  ruby  red,  the 
golden  stubble  fenced  in  by  dark,  environing  woods. 
Within  all  was  neat  and  clean  as  Nels's  racial  passion  for 
soap  and  water  could  make  it.  So  while  he  stabled  the 

368 


THE  TRAIL  AGAIN 

tired  ponies,  she  donned  one  of  her  old  aprons,  rolled 
sleeves  above  dimpled  elbows,  and  cooked  supper; 
rather  a  superfluous  performance  aside  from  the  grave 
pleasure  he  took  in  looking  on. 

Afterwards  they  sat  on  the  doorstep,  she  between  his 
knees,  head  pillowed  against  his  breast,  and  looked 
at  the  copper  moon  that  hung  in  the  trees  across  the 
lake  —  watched  it  brighten  to  silver;  listened  to  the 
harmonies  of  the  night,  the  loon's  weird  alto,  the  bit 
tern's  bass,  cry  of  a  pivoting  mallard,  owl's  solemn 
choral,  a  wilder,  freer  movement  than  was  ever  chained 
in  a  stave.  Once  a  snuffle,  soft-lapping,  drifted  in,  and 
he  replied  to  her  start,  "Bear-drinking."  Otherwise 
they  were  silent  up  to  the  moment  she  arose,  shivering. 

"It  is  getting  colder.     I  think  I'll  go  in." 

He  stayed  a  little  longer,  stretched  luxuriously  out  on 
the  grass;  was  still  there  when,  having  made  their  bed, 
she  came  to  the  door.  A  vivid  memory  gave  her  pause. 
Just  so  had  he  looked — that  night — dark,  still,  as  the 
marble  effigy  of  some  old  Crusader,  with  the  moonlight 
quivering  about  him  like  an  emanation. 

"Are  you  coming,  dear?"  Perhaps  the  memory 
tinged  her  tone.  Anyway,  he  sprang  up,  arms  extended, 
and  as  she  came  running,  he  lifted  her  clear  of  the  ground ; 
carried  her  in  and  closed  the  door. 

Her  shiver  had  warrant.  Within  the  hour  the  north 
wind  began  to  herd  luminous  clouds  across  the  moon. 
At  midnight  the  cabin  loomed  darkly  through  a  bridal 
veil  of  white. 


THE    END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


